Heavy are the Hearts that Wear the Crown
by Bathorybabe
Summary: A sequel to "If I've Killed One Man, I've Killed Two." After Harlow Tabris' departure, Alistair is left behind to nurse his broken heart and marry Elissa Cousland, a woman unhappy to be forced into a marriage she never desired. They must find a way to fit into each other's lives, but how can they when the specter of Alistair's lost love hangs heavy above them?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a sequel to my fic ****If I've Killed One Man, I've Killed Two****. And while it isn't strictly necessary (at least not yet) to have read it, I highly recommend you do. I will be referencing characters and events from that story without a lot of exposition to catch new readers up. It focuses on Alistair and how he deals with Harlow's departure and his ensuing marriage to Elissa Cousland. And no, this will not be one of those "it's a marriage of convenience" and then two chapters later they fall in love kind of stories. I'm going to take my time and explore how these people fit into each other's lives, especially with the specter of Harlow Tabris hanging over their marriage.**

** So for those of you who HAVE read ****If I've Killed**_**,**_** welcome back! I clearly could not get these characters out of my head. So much so that I have put the two crossovers I've been writing on hiatus while I get this story out. We know that Harlow got her happily ever after, but what about Alistair? Harlow will more than likely not appear in this story, but Zevran may make a brief appearance or two (how we love the sexy elf!)**

**Please R&R and I'll post a new chapter within a day or so!**

It had been three months…a whole season, and still the pain was as sharp and present as ever. Every day there was some instance of daily life that reminded him of her; her face, her laugh, the deadly grace that was bred in her very bones. It had been a special kind of hell that he had been living in that summer; he was little more than a walking husk for weeks after her departure. For the life of him he could not get the image of her face tinged with sorrow but somehow lighter for it out of his mind, nor their last conversation.

_Promise me_ she had begged, and how could he refuse her? Even then as she had handed his heart back to him and told him in no uncertain terms that what they had was over. He had acceded to her request, but a part of him had screamed that it was a bitter consolation; to know that such a time and distance would separate them, only to reunite on the heels of death.

His dreams had been the worst: when not plagued by images of darkspawn hounding his every step he was haunted by visions of her lips on his, sweat-slicked skin writhing against one another, and her name whispering his as if it were a homecoming. He fell for it every time, and every time he felt horror overtake him as he would pull back to gaze upon her achingly beautiful face and find it black and peeling, a vacant look in her eyes as she turned to ashes beneath his hands. And yet even those were not as bad as the dreams that featured her and_ him_.

When Zevran had sent the message a month before, informing the court that the Arlessa of Amaranthine had been waylaid in the Southron Hills and would be returning to Amaranthine as soon as she was able, he had ripped the missive into shreds. He was not entirely shocked by the news, but the knowledge still hurt. It is one thing to imagine something, it is quite another to have it shoved in your face so that you are forced to acknowledge the truth of such a thing. Left alone in his room with the tattered remains of the missive at his feet he had raged about the chamber smashing every gift she had ever given him, until they were nothing more than unrecognizable bits of a life lived before this one. He had been so tempted to find the nearest bottle and dull the pain as he had before, but the invisible pressure of a crimson stain curling about his hip stayed his hand, and instead he wept bitter tears until he felt hollow to his core. After that night he had yet another nightmare to add to his list of torments, this one far more damaging in its own way.

It had been three months, an entire season, and as summer gave way to brisk autumn, Alistair Theirin found himself no closer to letting of Harlow Tabris than he had on the day she had departed, never to return.

~oOo~

"You could at least try to play the part, Elissa," Fergus sighed as he glanced over at his sister, her face pensive and withdrawn. "You're like to scare him off with an expression like that."

"The man survived a blight and killed an archdemon," came his sister's matter of fact reply, "I highly doubt that my lack of excitement would shake him to his foundation."

"Clearly you have never been married," Fergus muttered as he urged his horse into a faster trot, eager to arrive at the palace on time. When his sister did not follow suit he bit back a groan of exasperation and slowed his pace once more. "Elissa-"

"Fergus," she replied in a mocking tone of voice.

"You agreed to this arrangement months ago, why are you suddenly so put out at the prospect?"

"I am not 'suddenly' put out," she snapped, "I've always been put out. Just because I agreed to the damn marriage does not mean I'm happy with it. To be sold off like chattel, my virtue to called into question and discussed in public; it's barbaric. As if my maidenhead is where my value lies, and not in who I am."

"Elissa," Fergus said soothingly, "that is not the way of it-"

"I wonder," she replied sweetly, "if once that highly prized bit of tissue is broken will I then be worthless? After all, everyone seemed to be so damned concerned with it, I wonder if I am no longer a virgin will I no longer be interesting or as valued? Perhaps we should stop by the pearl on the way to palace? I can be rid of both it and this marriage in one fell swoop."

Fergus' throat let out a strangled cry as his sister wheeled her mare about and made as if to ride towards the eastern part of the city. When he fumbled a hand out to grasp at her reigns she shot him a bemused look and turned her horse back around.

"You are so gullible," she said with a chuckle as she continued along their course to the castle.

"And you are so infuriating," he replied wearily, "surviving Ostegar was a noon-day stroll compared to living with you dear sister."

"Without me your life would be far less entertaining," she replied cheerfully as they made their way through Denerim's palace district.

"Yes, whatever shall I do once you are married? I shall perish of boredom in Highever without you there to fight me into old age."

Elissa's smile slipped slightly at his words and she sobered once more. Reaching a hand out to catch his attention she looked at him with serious eyes.

"I do worry that you very well might," she said softly, "there is no one left for you there. It is a place filled with strangers and laughter that is unfamiliar. I dread to think upon you being left there with nothing but the ghosts of our family for company."

"Do not worry so," he said smiling, patting her hand in comfort, "I shall be more than well. Highever holds just as many happy memories as ill, and in time I shall endeavor to create new ones. You never have to fret about me, little sparrow."

"I hate it when you call me that," she said with a scowl and Fergus laughed brightly in response.

"Which is precisely why I do it. Perhaps I shall tell His Majesty of the phrase so as to ensure that in my absence you are being thoroughly annoyed to my satisfaction."

"I'm sure the King will do a fine enough job of that all on his own," Elissa said with a sigh as the massive gates of the castle loomed before them. They rode in silence for the rest of the journey, each lost to their own thoughts and questions. A stable lad greeted them at the gates and Fergus watched in amusement as his sister batted away the hands of a groomsmen who offered to help her from her horse. Once their mounts were seen to the pair were left alone before the steps of the castle, each gazing up at the massive stonework before them.

"Please try, Elissa, for my sake. I do not think this is such a bad match, it is advantageous for both our family and for Ferelden as a whole," he murmured quietly.

"Yes, no pressure at all to be the saving grace of the Theirin line, a simple thing really," she replied softly, her words not quite matching the wistful tone in her voice. Before her brother could protest further she closed her eyes and nodded her head. "Relax, dear brother, I shall do nothing to embarrass or otherwise besmirch our family's name. I shall marry the King, bear him an heir, and be the model of queenly elegance."

"Thank you, Elissa. It will get better with time and you are doing your country a great service," Fergus said, the gratitude plain in voice as he motioned to the liveried servants to allow them entrance.

"How could I not?" she replied dully as the doors to the castle swung open, "what else is a woman but one who knows her duty?"

Fergus chose to ignore the last of her words and gently placed her palm atop his hand as they ascended the stairs. Elissa felt her spine stiffen with every step and she silently said goodbye to the life and person she had been before. She knew as soon as she stepped across the threshold she would no longer be Elissa Cousland; wild and daring daughter of the Teryn of Highever…she would be Elissa Cousland; the model of nobility and propriety and future Queen of Ferelden.

_Queen or prisoner_, she thought, _it is one and the same._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed/followed/faved! I'm glad there is still interest in this storyline!**

"Your Majesty? Your _Majesty_?"

"Huh?" Alistair muttered distractedly as he sought retain his focus on the matter at hand. It was rather difficult when he had spent the last two hours listening to increasingly boring reports on the status of foot bridges scattered throughout Ferelden.

"I feel as if I don't have your full attention, Your Majesty," the man standing before him said with a hint of annoyance.

"Oh you do, Master Gareth, there is nothing I find more thrilling than a full and total immersion into the precarious state of the vastly important footbridge," he replied as he rubbed his hands against his face in an effort to wake himself up.

"One would hope so, considering a goodly amount of trade crosses over them and into your hands, Your Majesty," Gareth replied with precision.

"And while I can appreciate that," Alistair said, his words leaning towards the harsher end of politeness, "I find it difficult to believe that I need to hear about every, single, sodding one of them."

"Your Majesty-"

"Is this really a matter I should be attending to? Is there an epidemic of twisted ankles and muddy boots sweeping the nation due to the lack of proper footbridges? Has Ferelden really succumbed to such a dire state?" he asked with raised brows.

"With all due respect-"

"Oh, stuff your respect, I'm done. Eamon, give him whatever funds he needs and let's be done with it."

The former Arl sighed but obeyed, gesturing for Gareth to follow him to the doors. As soon as he had shut them away in solitude, he turned on the regent with a reproachful look.

"Oh don't give me that look," Alistair spat as he rose from his chair, "you were five seconds away from nodding off yourself."

"Your Majesty, perhaps now would be a welcome time to discuss your…lack of decorum in these meetings as of late," Eamon hedged carefully.

"My lack of decorum? To whatever do you refer, Eamon?" the king replied with feigned ignorance and scandal before letting his face one more settle into a bitter and dark expression. "I thought a King was supposed to owe fealty and deference to no one save the divine."

"Be that as it may," the man replied, his temper fraying, "do you wish to be remembered as a King who ruled with a gentle hand and humility or a petulant boy-regent who openly insulted his subjects?"

"I'd rather be remembered as a King who's time wasn't wasted with _fucking footbridges_," Alistair growled.

"Enough!" Eamon roared. "She is gone, Alistair. She has been for months, and it is high time you stopped mourning and started playing the role she bloody well bestowed upon you!"

"I told you not to bring her up, Eamon," Alistair said after a tense pause, his words a warning, but the tone empty of any true anger.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," his chancellor replied stiffly.

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes. I have received word that the improvements to the Alienage have finally been completed and are ready for your inspection at your leisure."

"Then I think it's best I see them now…I could use some fresh air," Alistair muttered as he strode to leave.

"Unfortunately, that is not possible;" his uncle replied regretfully, "the Lady Cousland has only just arrived and is waiting for you to properly receive her."

"Do you really think I am in the best of moods to meet my future wife?" Alistair asked, "I'm like to scare the girl off with my _lack of decorum_."

"Alistair-"

"Fine…I'll give the Lady a few moments and some pretty turn of phrase, but then I _am_ going to the Alienage, Eamon. Harlow may be gone, but someone has to stand witness for the promise I made to her people, may as well be me."

Eamon watched helplessly as the King trudged out of the room, his posture hunched like a man defeated. The former Arl had always held a great deal of respect for the Hero of Ferelden, finding her a keen intellect and gifted warrior, but upon watching Alistair's slow decline into bitterness and despair ….there were days that the man cursed Harlow Tabris for ever coming into the King's life.

~oOo~

"Are you sure the man is real, Fergus?" Elissa asked after they had been sitting in one of the castle's receiving rooms for over an hour, "I'm not entirely convinced the nation hasn't all been the victim of some mass hysteria. It is the only logical explanation as to why we've been sitting here for so blasted long."

"He is the King, Elissa, we wait on his sufferance and pleasure," Fergus murmured as he gazed up at the ceiling.

"Have I mentioned how _very_ grateful I am to you for betrothing me to such a caring and thoughtful man?" she asked dully as she rose to pace about them room. It was well appointed, the furniture of sturdy and good make, and it boasted a breath-taking view of the castle's courtyard garden. But for all it's niceties, it still remained a rather dull space to pass an hour in, and Elissa was reaching the breaking point of her patience.

"Sod it," she said after another twenty minutes had passed with no indication that their waiting was drawing to a close. As she stomped towards the door, Fergus shot to his feet and rushed to intercept his sister.

"And where would you be off to, little sparrow?" he asked politely as he whirled her about, hands gripped hard on her shoulders.

"Why, the privy of course," she replied, her words all innocence and purity.

"Nice try, Elissa, but you can't- OOF!" Fergus' admonishment was cut off as his sister quickly stomped on his foot and hastily pushed him to the ground. Before he could even get his wits about him Elissa was running through the doorway, her laughter ringing a bright taril behind her.

With her skirts hiked high and her mahogany hair rippling down her back, Elissa ran through the halls of the palace, seeking to stay ahead of her put upon brother who was now following her, threatening bodily harm and divine intervention if she did not come to her senses immediately. Servants and nobility alike were startled into rushing out of the siblings' path as they tore through the castle, shocked to see such a spectacle.

After a few twists and turns, Elissa found herself spilling out into the warm autumn sunlight, the scent of crisp apples and fragrant Hyssop hanging heavy in the air. She smiled as she paused a moment to realize she had escaped into the very garden she had been admiring only minutes previous. Her merry chase all but forgotten she slowly wove her way though rows of monkshood, toad lilies, and Starkahven sage. Her brother appeared moments later, breathless and leaning against a shaded alcove as he fixed his sister with a stern glare.

"I suspect you enjoyed that," he muttered as he closed his eyes and willed his racing heart to slow.

"You know me too well, dear brother," she said with a smile as she plucked a handful of clematis blossoms from an overgrown vine and inhaled the sweet scent.

"I don't suppose in all the excitement of _injuring me_ you stopped to think that the King could very well be arriving to greet his future wife only to find himself calling on an empty room?"

"Pssh," she snorted dismissively, "enough servants saw our little chase to fully inform him of my whereabouts. Serves him right for letting us cool our heels for so long. The man should have better manners than that."

"You forget, Elissa, the man was a commoner until not but two years ago," Fergus said with a sigh as he limped over to join her.

"But a templar trained commoner," she retorted, "and unless I am wrong in my insight into the chantry, the divine trains their soldiers to be the very model of chivalry and deportment."

"Well then I suppose it will be your job to educate him in the finer arts of etiquette," her brother said dryly, "just, leave out the course in which you maim innocent siblings in an effort to escape nobility."

"Oh innocent is it?" Elissa laughed, "I seem to recall a time when you replaced my cosmetics with stained pigeon shit because you were sore at me for beating you at diamondback."

"Okay, that's it," Fergus said with a grin as he began to tickle his little sister in obedience. She shrieked in protest and threw the handful of flowers she had been grasping into his face. He gave her a startled look before reaching down to grasp his own bunch of posies and soon the two were openly battling one another with flying petals. Their laughter lit the garden as they raced about the beds, each taunting one another with slights from their childhood. A gruff and commanding cough brought them up short and Elissa found herself grinning up a man of no more than twenty five years staring down at them on horseback.

"Good day to you ser," she said with a quick dip of a curtsey, her expression still bright and flushed from her exertions. She felt Fergus hastily reach up and pluck a sage stem out of her hair and she batted his hand away, turning to find him gone pale in embarrassment.

"Good day, would you perhaps be the Lady Cousland?" the man asked, his handsome face a study in neutrality.

"That I am, and who may I inquire are you?" she asked, breath coming in heavy pants as she recovered from her sport.

"Your Majesty," Fergus said before an introduction could be made, "I apologize for our absence from the receiving room."

Elissa's eyes fluttered at her idiocy and she quickly dropped into a low and apologetic curtsey. The king said nothing and she wondered if he planned on keeping her in such a position for the rest of the afternoon. When the seconds ticked by with no response from him, Elissa decided she had been sufficiently humiliated and rose without waiting for the proper command. Her eyes flashed sullen and reproachful as she brought her gaze to meet his, and was a bit surprised to see his face as stony as hers.

"You are forgiven," the King said, flicking his eyes to regard her brother, who still held his courtly bow. Fergus straightened up and spared an exasperated look with his sister before returning his attention to monarch. "Although I do wish you hadn't so thoroughly destroyed my garden in your haste to find entertainment"

Fergus blanched, realizing for the first time just who's flowers they had ripped from the ground in their little game of rivalry. Elissa herself did not so much as flinch but raised her chin in defiance. Her brother stifled a groan, knowing all too well what that movement portended.

"Perhaps we would not have been forced to seek such sport had we not been kept waiting for so long…Your Majesty," she said with soft civility. The King regarded her with shrewd eyes and the sound of cicadas humming through the trees seemed to grow to a deafening roar as Fergus waited for the reprimand that was almost surely coming.

"I can see Eamon was right about you, my Lady," the regent said sardonically, his eyes sweeping through her wild and petal strewn hair, "you are the very model of elegance and propriety."

"His Majesty is too kind," came her biting reply. The King narrowed his eyes and Elissa smiled sweetly under the scrutiny.

"I came to bid you welcome," he said at length, "and to offer my _heartfelt_ joy over our pending nuptials. I am sure that you shall make an excellent wife and Queen."

"I wish only to serve his Majesty's pleasure and humbly thank you for such wishes," she said with the dull tone of a speech rehearsed.

"Well, now that we've gotten the _pleasantries_, out of the way, I really should take my leave. Good day, Lady Cousland, Teryn Cousland."

Elissa and Fergus swept him another bow, but she kept her head firmly upright, eyes never leaving his as he and his roan made their way stiff out the courtyard.

"That man is joyless prig," Elissa muttered as she rose to her feet.

"One you must learn to live with dear sister," Fergus said with a sigh, "although, after your little display of temper I wouldn't be surprised if he sent you packing before supper."

"He's more than welcome to," she snapped, "it'll save me the trouble of seeking a divorce when the man drives me to insanity."

Elissa stomped off in a righteous anger and Fergus watched her go with a weary heart. Plucking a wilted flower from his hair he stared after his sister and thought, _The man can't drive you to insanity if you've already made it your home, sister._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:Okay, this chapter was not fun, in the least, to write. I ended up scrapping a majority of it twice, and I'm still not pleased. (Here's a thought: don't indulge in a marathon viewing of the TV show**** Deadwood**** before sitting down to write fantasy based fiction….all you end up with is far too many swear words and Alistair with a Midwestern mining accent.) But none the less, here it is. **

**Trigger warning: there is a small bit of domestic violence in this installment. (Not from Alistair! From the new big-bad of the world)**

**Also, as odd as it may seem, in the middle ages swan truly was a delicacy fit for royalty. Henry the VIII was once given an entire stuffed swan that only he was allowed to partake in. **

_She should be here_ was the only thought in Alistair's head and he rode through the now pristine streets of the Alienage. Every façade of every building shone bright and clean in the afternoon sun, and kitchen gardens were in full bloom, women joyfully collecting the spoils of a healthy growing season with smiles on their faces. He felt a stab of guilt as he surveyed the improvements; there were still parts of Denerim that were struggling to recover from the blight, and yet _this_ quarter looked as if it had never been touched by the mayhem and destruction. The nobility had grumbled throughout the construction, murmuring behind privileged hands how deplorable it was that such a poor, inferior section of the city receive such generosity. Eamon had even asked him to reconsider his edict, but Alistair had steadfastly refused. He had broken far too many promises to Harlow, he intended to see at least one of them through; if, for nothing else, to prove to her that he could. And so it was that he rode amongst the spoils of his word, fiercely wishing that she was present to see that such a thing could still be counted on.

"What do you think, Your Majesty?" a pleased voice called to him, breaking him free of his brooding.

"It doesn't matter what I think, Shianni," he said with a soft smile, "your opinion is the one that matters."

"You learn fast for a shem," the brash and grinning elven woman replied. "Get down off that horse and have a drink with me."

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Shianni let out a throaty chuckle and motioned for him to dismount.

"I wouldn't be the first," she said with a grin as they made their way to her front door. As the door swung open soundlessly on freshly oiled hinges, Shianni hesitated and turned to him with serious eyes. "My cousin sent a letter," she said gently, "I didn't know if you'd want…."

"No," Alistair said, his voice tight and controlled, "I mean-I would like to hear of her."

Shianni nodded and the pair escaped into her dwelling to discuss matters of politics and lovers past. Unbeknownst to them, a trio of elves watched their exchange with dull and angry eyes.

"Do you see how even she cow-tows to the filthy nobility?" one asked, the words bitter on his tongue.

"I never doubted you, Mortain, Shianni's been thick as thieves with the king since he granted her request to rebuild the Alienage," another by the name of Simon replied.

"Yes," Mortain sneered, "such a lovely consolation prize for selling our kind into slavery."

"Technically, Loghain and Howe were the ones behind-" the lone female amongst the group interjected only to be silenced with fierce glares.

"As if that matters, Sabine!" Mortain hissed, "That shemlan was all too aware of what those fucking slavers took from us, and in the two years since his reign has he _ever_ tried to reclaim what was lost?"

"_You_ came back to us," Sabine whispered meekly, her eyes downcast.

"Yes, I did," he replied, raising a hand to lay softly upon her cheek, "for you, my sweetling." When she ventured a hesitant smile his face turned hard and his fingers suddenly dug into her tender flesh, fixing her jaw like a vice. "Only to find that the coin paid for my freedom came from my wife spreading her legs for the shem in a fucking brothel!"

"It was the only way to raise to raise the gold," she wailed, "the price on you was set too high!"

"You defiled yourself," her husband hissed.

"Mortain," Simon said gently as he bid his enraged friend to release his whimpering wife. The elf did so with a harsh shove and Sabine went sprawling to the ground, silent tears marking a path down her cheeks.

"This cannot stand," Mortain muttered, turning back to stare once more upon Shianni's door. "Something needs to be done."

~oOo~

Never in her life had Elissa been forced to sit through such an awkward meal. _At least the food is up to standard_ she thought wryly as she dug into her second helping of swan. She was told the bird had been prepared as a token of welcome for her on behalf of her soon to be husband, but considering the icy reception she had received that afternoon Elissa was more than convinced the elaborate meal had been Eamon's brainchild. In the end it did not matter who had bestowed the gift upon her, never in her life had she had cause to taste such a delicacy and she relished the tender meat that seemed to melt on her tongue.

"I see you have a healthy appetite about you, my Lady," Eamon said with a smile, "You will find Alistair does as well. I expect to find you both raiding the castle larder in the dead of night if I am not mistaken."

"If I appear to be ravenous I can only say it is because of the delicious offering you have set before me," she replied sweetly, " never before have I been blessed with such a delectable feast. Don't you agree, Fergus?"

Fergus, for his part, was looking a bit green around the edges and simply nodded in agreement, his eyes gone glassy. Elissa hid a smirk behind her hand, clearly the swan was not sitting well with her dear brother but he was far too concerned with social niceties to refuse such a bounty.

"His Majesty is most generous to gift me with such a magnificent meal," Elissa continued politely as she glanced down the table at the withdrawn man idly picking at his food. When Alistair barely registered her words Eamon coughed into his hand, startling the King into attention.

"Oh yes," he said absently, "you are most welcome. Although, I'm quite sure that a dead bird is the best way to earn a place in your esteem." Despite herself Elissa couldn't help but smile at the words. Perhaps she had simply caught the man in a bad moment and Alistair was not the dour villain she had painted him to be. "I see you have recovered from your…_exertions_, this afternoon," he said after a moment, gesturing to her immaculately plaited locks that coiled about her head, "not a daisy in sight."

Elissa felt whatever goodwill she felt evaporate and she once again was filled with nothing but annoyance and despair for the man.

"May I enquire as to where you were headed this afternoon? You seemed to be in _quite the hurry_," Elissa said pointedly as she delicately cut a bite from the piece of fowl on her plate. Alistair arched an eyebrow at her tone but did not rise to the bait and answered her with a false smile.

"I was touring the Alienage," he said, "keeping a promise I had made long ago."

"Promise?" Elissa inquired, genuinely curious. Before the king could reply Eamon overtook the conversation, hastily asking questions about the restoration of Highever. The conversation took up the rest of the meal, and Elissa could not help but notice that the King offered nary another word beyond what was socially expected. She could tell Eamon was frustrated at the monarch for his horrific behavior, and it made her wonder if she was destined to be married to a man who could barely bring himself to speak with her. Once the servants had cleared away the platters of picked over food Elissa gracefully rose to her feet and turned to address Alistair.

"I think it best that his Majesty and I excuse ourselves to get better acquainted with one another."

"If it's all the same to you, I would rather retire for the evening," Alistair said rising, turning to give Eamon a pointed look, "I find myself quite over taxed with thoughts of the _footbridge_."

"Apologies, Majesty, but I _insist_," she said, straining to keep a civil tone to her voice. Alistair leveled a hard look at her but nodded and bent to murmur something in Eamon's ear. Fergus pushed himself to his feet and grasped his sister's hand in an attempt to garner her attention.

"Elissa," he whispered, "what exactly do you think you're doing?"

"The King and I are going to have an _abrupt_ conversation_," _she muttered.

"What conversation with you isn't abrupt?" he snapped.

"Look," Elissa whispered, thrusting a finger against her brother's chest, "you're the one who got me into this, and I will, by the Maker, see it through. But I will be damned if I'm going to spend the rest of my life married to a man who doesn't extend even the simplest courtesy to his wife. To the void with titles and duty, I will not have that man treating me as less than I am."

Without waiting for a reply she spun on her heel and strode to join Alistair who was waiting for her impatiently by the door. When he didn't so much as offer her his arm Elissa rolled her eyes and stomped off down the corridor, forcing Alistair to trail behind as they made their way to one of the castle's many meeting rooms. Once they were safely behind closed doors the King slumped into the nearest chair and spread his arms wide, face expectant.

"Well?" he asked, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"All due respect Your Majesty-"

"Oh stop it. We're going to be husband and wife, at the very least you can call me by my name," he interrupted with a sigh.

"Are we to be husband and wife, or are we to be two strangers who occasionally pass each other in the halls?" she replied "Because from where I'm standing it looks to be the latter, _Alistair._"

"What exactly were you expecting, Lady Cousland?" he replied, leaning forward in the chair, eyes mocking, "I've known you for less than six hours, even the bards would tell you that is not _nearly_ enough time for love to manifest." Elissa stared at him for a few seconds before laughing loud and hysterical. Alistair looked at her, a queer and put-out look upon his face. "Care to enlighten me, Lady?" he asked wryly, "I am known for my stunning wit, but I do not recall making a joke."

"You think this is about _love?"_ she gasped between fits of giggles, "Oh that is rich! Fergus was right, you are still a commoner aren't you?"

"I will not apologize for my humble upbringing," he said dangerously, but was hard pressed to hold the emotion when the words elicited an even stronger bout of laughter from the woman. Minutes ticked by as she attempted to stifle the amusement that bubbled out of her. Once she seemed to have her emotions under control she delicately folded her hands across her stomach and smiled at him.

"My apologies, Alistair," she said simply, "I did not mean offense. It's just the notion that this marriage is about anything more than power and convenience is a bit farfetched."

"Is it so wrong to want to bear affection for the woman I marry?" Alistair asked as he rose from his chair.

"For nobility? Yes," she said softly, her features instantly sobering. A silence descended upon them, each unsure as to how to continue.

"And you are fine with that?" Alistair asked eventually, his tone neutral. Elissa snapped her eyes up to meet his, a fire flashing in their dark depths.

"It doesn't matter if I am 'fine' with it as you say," she said, her voice filled with bitterness, "for all we worship a goddess, a woman knows her place in this world. And mine happens to be here, in Denerim, as your wife."

Alistair regarded her with shrewd eyes, taking in her stature and bearing. He had to admit there was something he admired in the way that she so effortlessly stood her ground. It was as if she was utterly unimpressed that he was the King. Such a thing was both irritating and impressive all at once. And she was beautiful, with thick shining hair that fell in waves to her waist, and deep brown eyes, so dark he would swear they were black. She was the exact opposite of Harlow in every way, from coloring to upbringing, and in the end that was why he could not bring himself to offer her the social courtesies due a wife…not when he could not marry the person he truly wanted to.

"I suspect you have demands? A long list of dos and don'ts that I shall have to agree to lest I incur your wifely wrath?"

"My wrath?" she sputtered.

"A term Eamon uses when he's earned the sharp side of Isolde's tongue," he said with a shrug, "having grown up around the woman, I say it is a vast understatement of her temper."

"I remember her," Elissa said wryly, "she was never fond of me, said I was impertinent and uppity. Believe me when I say the feeling is mutual."

"Well at least we have one thing in common," Alistair said with a sigh, "I don't suppose that is enough to make a happy marriage?"

"Not nearly so," Elissa said sweetly, her eyes disapproving an irritated. "Look, I am no more happy to be in this position as you, but the die has been cast and here we are. All I ask that is in public you treat me with the respect due my station and at least pretend, for the sake of appearances, that you bear me some affection."

"And in return?" he prodded, "You will what? Act the very sweet-tempered queen who never has nary an ill word to say of her husband? Forgive me, Elissa, but from what little I know of you I find that hard to believe."

"In return," she said through clenched teeth, "I will bear you an heir, as is my duty, and assist you in the ruling of our kingdom. In addition to which, I shall try to give you court polish and lessons in etiquette, something you sorely need."

"I don't need help ruling," he said dismissively, completely glossing over the child issue, "And I quite like beingunpolished, I don't need you to make me _shiny_."

"If you think I am to be sold off to a man I hardly know, taken from everything I hold dear and forced to live a life completely foreign and opposite as to what I once dreamed, only to be treated as a pretty adornment that is dusted off and propped up for social functions, than you are _dearly_ mistaken," she said in a low voice. Alistair's eyes widened as she stepped close to him, their faces inches apart. "Lesson the first, my dear King; never seek to take power from a member of the nobility. Not unless you are willing to deal with the inevitable fall out."

She stepped back and gave him a low curtsey, eyes never once leaving his, as if she were daring him to defy her. When he said nothing she gracefully rose to her feet and took her leave without another word. Alistair stared after her long after she had left and mulled their conversation over in his head. A part of him whispered that none of this was her fault and she was just as much an unwilling victim in this mess as he; but the part of him that heeded the iron will within the woman bristled at the notion that this was no mere noblewoman seeking adoration and fame as a queen. Elissa Cousland would dig in and fight for what she thought was proper and right, and damn the consequences if he didn't agree. It was a terrifying and thrilling concept, and Alistair could only hope that this marriage didn't implode ten minutes after their vows were spoken.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the delay folks! Not only was this a very long chapter to write but it was Pride weekend here and this ally got swept up in the rainbow madness! (happy Pride to my GLBTQ and Ally readers!)**

**This chapter is different from my others in that it is light on the dialogue. For some reason it just fell out that way this time around….**

Three days later, as night fell, two very different meetings took place in the city of Denerim. One was a lavish affair with glittering riches and a feast of the finest meats and fruits to be found in all of Thedas. The other was held in secret, hushed whispers of desperation and mistrust the only thing to be found in abundance. One was filled with humans, the other elves. And while on the surface they looked to be two very different gatherings, underneath they were very much the same. Politics ran a constant course through the murmurs and slavery was an ever present specter that consumed the thoughts of the attendees.

Neither group were aware of the other, but a web of their own making was being spun ever so slowly, connecting the figureheads of each meeting in a way that would alter their lives forever.

~oOo~

"Such a pleasure to see you, Lady Cousland"

"Elissa Cousland? I thought she was in Highever."

"Ugh, I can't stand that Cousland girl, do you know she insulted my husband the last time she came to court?"

Elissa was the very model of regal politeness, a soft smile painted on her lips, eyes alight with a demure sort of mirth. Were anyone to glance at her, they would venture that she was having the time of her life rubbing elbows with her fellow members of nobility. Anyone who _truly_ knew her, however, would have seen the tell tale signs that inside she was using every ounce of restraint to keep herself from unleashing a torrent of vile words and insults. During the blight and the reconstruction that followed after she had forgotten how taxing it could be to constantly be on guard and couch your words in flowering praise and protocol. Her talents in palace intrigue were rusty and she found herself hard pressed to keep her façade of detached merriment from slipping. And her future husband was most certainly not helping the situation.

After their heated discussion three days previous Alistair had made little to no effort to acquiesce to her request. Perhaps that was due to the fact that she had hardly seen the man since. When not sequestered away with Eamon, granting audiences to commoners and nobility alike, each trying to squeeze a little gold from the crown, he was touring the Alienage or battling his guardsmen in the practice ring. Elissa had offered to accompany him on one such sojourn to the elven quarter but was hastily struck down with a harsh and definitive "no." Whatever he was seeking in that section of the city was something he wished hidden from her, and that most assuredly did not sit well with her.

Despite their lack of interaction during the day, they found themselves thrown together for dinner. Apart from the polite inquiries into one another's activities the meal's were quiet and tense; a bitter and forced interaction that grated on Elissa's nerves with every bite and swallow. And yet, she occasionally caught him out gazing at her, a quizzical look on his face as if she were a strange animal and he were studying her to divine her secrets and origins. Such instances would fill her with a loneliness that was almost over whelming. It only enforced the thought that this man had no idea who she was, what she hoped for, what she longed for in the quiet hours of the night. Perhaps he never would, and _that _ thought was a heavy burden upon her shoulders.

But at the very least she had expected him to honor his promise to attend to her as his future wife in front of the members of court, a feat that was something he apparently could not bring himself to face head on. Not once that evening had he approached her, requested a dance, or even offered her greetings and a smile. Elissa felt her ire rise with every minute that passed without an acknowledgement of her presence. With such behavior it would not take the nobility long to realize that King Alistair Theirin had no desire to marry her, and the conniving and political schemes would start almost immediately in an attempt to replace her with someone who _did_ catch his fancy, someone more malleable and even tempered than her.

Whatever Elissa's feelings on the matter of her marriage, she knew that she did not desire to be a queen who was summarily divorced and sent away in shame; to forever be whispered about in history as the woman who failed so spectacularly at being a wife. Gazing at her future husband across the room, Elissa set her jaw and mentally stepped up to meet the challenge. If Alistair wasn't going to put the effort into this sham of a marriage, it seems she was going to have to take control…lucky for her that was _exactly_ the way she liked it.

~oOo~

Mortain surveyed his surroundings and felt grim satisfaction fill him. For three days he and Simon had quietly but effectively spread word of their gathering, fanning the flames of unrest with a well placed word or phrase. The result? Twenty able bodied elves crowded into Valendrian's now abandoned house, all eager to hear his gospel and fight for the cause. Sabine was among them, huddled into a corner, trying to appear as small and inconsequential as possible. Mortain felt a stab of guilt wash through him as he gazed at the dark and angry bruises that stamped her jaw. The guilt was quickly replaced with anger when he pictured his beautiful wife naked and panting below a human male, a measly forty silver lying on the night stand next to her. As much as he enjoyed his new found freedom, he refused to accept the manner in which it was bought. With rage simmering below his skin he scrambled up onto a nearby table and waited with a proud bearing for the crowd around him to settle.

"Welcome," he called out, eyes sweeping an arc over those assembled, "my heart swells at the turnout before me. To think that such fine elven men and women are willing to take up my banner, it is a heady thing." He let his words wash over them, placating them with praise and flattery. "Two years ago, I was taken from our home. Ripped away by the hands of _humans_ and sold into slavery as if I were a trinket to be traded at market. For two years I suffered degradation and punishment at the hands of those who thought themselves my betters, and for two years I quietly plotted my revenge."

"How did you slip free, Mortain?" a voice called out from the crowd.

"One of our own raised the coin to secure my freedom, my lovely wife Sabine," he said with false devotion as he fixed his gaze upon her. With a menacing gesture he motioned for her to join him on the make-shift dais and she cautiously crept forward, eyes wary and frightened. When he gently lifted her to rest beside him she trembled at his touch and waited for the blow she was sure to come.

"This rare and precious beauty did the unthinkable," he said softly, hand gliding a trail from her cheek to her wrist, sending shivers of morbid anticipation through her body. His gaze turned harsh as his fingers dug hard into her skin, grinding against her bones in a twisting manner, "She sold herself to the shem! The very people who took our kin from their homes and sought to break their spirits, and she welcomed them into her bed to defile and debase her."

Gasps of outrage filled the room and Sabine's face flushed a bright crimson from humiliation. Her eyes watered as she stood complacent in her husband's grasp, enduring his vile words with little more than whimper. Distantly she wished for the courage to shake out of his grasp and return his harsh treatment in kind, but the part of her that longed for sweet and loving husband to resurface stayed her hand and she submitted to his tirade.

"Do you see?" Mortain raged on, shaking his wife violently by the wrist, causing her to cry out, "Do you see what we as a people must do to survive in _their_ world. We scrape and scramble for the barest scrap of food and coin. We accept far less than we are worth and our women are forced to couple with our oppressors to make up the difference. The humans sell us into slavery, sling insults at our feet, and seek to take what is not given freely by force!"

Angered shouts of agreement and other crimes perpetrated against the elves filled the room and Mortain felt himself swell with triumph. He glanced to the back of the room, his eyes catching Simon's heated gaze. His friend smiled at him in victory, pleased that their plan was succeeding with such swiftness.

"I say we _stop_ bowing before the shem as if they were our masters. The time to hide in the shadows and hope for nothing more than indifference is past. The humans think the take our women, our culture, our crafts, our _freedom_? I say _let them come_, and I'll be there to plant ten inches of steel in the guts of _any_ shem who dares!"

The crowd erupted in a roar of approval, the passion of Mortain's words suffusing them with a battle fervor they did not know they possessed. Satisfied that he held them as his own he released Sabine's wrist and the woman quickly scrambled down from the table and made for the door. Mortain cared little for escape but was surprised to find it thwarted by the door suddenly crashing inward and Shianni stepping inside, her gaze stony and disapproving.

"What's this then?" she asked, glancing around the room. When her gaze came to rest of Sabine's face, her wrist cradled protectively against her chest, Shianni's eyes flashed bright with murder. Gently she traced the lines of mottled purple across the woman's face, remembering how she too had sought to evade anyone's knowing stare when she had returned from her own share of abuse.

"Mortain," she muttered softly, her words no less threatening for lack of volume. "Whatever has happened to your wife's face?"

"It was a guard!" Sabine blurted out, eyes wide with fear, "One of those that patrols the market. He was-a-a-a customer of mine…at the pearl. Sought to buy my favors again. When I refused he grabbed me."

"Was that the way of it?" Shianni asked, her eyes locked accusingly on Mortain. The man spread his arms wide in a gesture of innocence and Sabine nodded quickly. Turning back to the battered woman before her, she softened her voice and patted the woman's hand. "There is an elfroot potion at my house. Cyrion is there, he will see to you."

Sabine hesitantly nodded before fair running from the house, escaping into the blessed night as if it offered her salvation. Having been in her position once herself, Shianni all too well remembered how any place that did not include her abuser was a sanctuary in and of itself.

"All of you, go home," Shianni said after a moment, her voice hard and demanding, "Valendrian was our elder and I will not have you defile his house with your shit-brain plans that will only make things worse for our people." When no one made to leave she narrowed her eyes and grabbed the nearest elf and propelled him out the open door. "I. Said. Leave."

Grumbles of dissidence and displeasure rose from the assemblage but they obeyed her nonetheless, Shianni being the closest thing to an elder they had now. Mortain fixed her with an evil stare, one she returned with just as much malice. When the last elf has exited the house, Shianni slowly turned and took her leave, slamming the door behind her as she did so.

"She's going to be a problem," Simon muttered from across the room.

"Yes, we'll have to do something about her, won't we?" Mortain replied, his words holding a dark promise.

~oOo~

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Eamon called out, a wide smile splitting his face, "I'm sure you are all wondering why His Majesty has gathered you here this night."

_Here we go_, Alistair thought with trepidation. All night he had managed to avoid Elissa, wishing to have these last moments be his own before he was forever tied to her. He could tell he had irritated her with his behavior, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. He felt like a man walking the slow and tortuous walk to the gallows, every step taking him away from Harlow and closer to this woman who had been thrust into his life to replace her. Letting out a weary sigh he quickly climbed the dais to stand beside his uncle and turned to face the nobility with an impassive face.

"It brings me great pleasure to announce that our King, Alistair Theirin, has decided, at last, to take a bride," Eamon said cheerfully. Alistair shot him a side long glance, amazed at the man's happiness. Eamon had been attempting to wed him off since the moment the crown had come to rest upon his head. Playing match maker had not been easy for the former Arl and he viewed tonight as the much anticipated conclusion to those efforts. _Like a worried mother marrying off her spinster daughter…_ Alistair thought in amusement, so unused to seeing the usually calm man practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Lords and Ladies, I give you your future queen, Elissa Cousland!"

Alistair's gaze unthinkingly sought out the woman and found her demurely gliding through the crowd to make her way towards him. He couldn't help but take notice of the smiles that melted away into anger or disbelief as she passed each member of the court in her path. For all that he'd been at this two years he was still taken aback by their blatant jealousy to such news.

When at last Elissa had joined him at his side he politely grasped her hand and placed a chaste and quick kiss upon her knuckles. Elissa smiled sweetly, but he caught a quick flash of calculation in her eyes and felt dread settle in his stomach as her smile took that turn from polite to sly.

"A wedding shall be held three months hence-" Eamon began but was abruptly cut off by Elissa's clear voice.

"No," she called out, her eyes still locked with Alistair's, "Forgive me, my lord, but three months is far too long a wait." Alistair cocked an eye brow at her as she stepped closer to him and gently placed a hand upon his cheek. "For you see, the adoration I bear His Majesty is far too great for such a length of time. A week, no more, will I wait to wed this man I love."

Her words alone were enough to surprise and tip him off to her life, but what happened next truly rocked him into silence and stupefaction. He was woefully unprepared when she surged forward and pressed her lips against his in a heady kiss. The shock of such an action had him losing sense of his actions and he unthinkingly parted his mouth, allowing her to deepen the kiss. Startled gasps and whispers rose from the on lookers, but Alistair himself was still lost to the unexpected show of affection and the way her soft and pliable lips brushed passionately against his as his tongue gliding softly across hers. He was only a man after all, and the sudden act of intimacy had left him with only his base instincts in control as his mind scrambled to make sense of this sudden development.

Elissa broke the kiss just as suddenly as she had begun it and pulled him into a gentle embrace.

"What in the name of Andraste's holy unmentionables was _that_ about?" he whispered angrily in her ear as he hesitantly wrapped his arms about her, his wits returning to him in a rush.

"Solidifying my position," she replied tartly, her breath tickling his ear, "Lesson the second, my King: time is your enemy; it gives your opponent far too many opportunities to topple you."

When she pulled back to face the crowd her expression was one of a young woman hopelessly in love. It was a good act, better than he'd seen in a while, but Alistair knew better, and he made his face a clone of hers as the two pretended for all of the world that they cared for naught but each other.

Had the Maker himself been watching, even he would have bought the farce.


	5. Chapter 5

The feel of perfectly carved wood beneath fingers, the brush and tickle of stiff feathers against skin, the tension that sings through muscle as the string is drawn back to the perfect distance…all these sensations brought Elissa a focused sort of happiness as she stood twenty paces off from a target circle in the practice ring. Her dark liquid eyes were set in determination, mouth quirking up into a cocky grin that only widened when she let her arrow fly and it found a home within the red center of the target.

She had come to the practice ring that morning to work out some of her lingering aggravation from the night before. After her devious and highly successful assault on Alistair, she had expected him to stumble through the rest of the gathering in a confused sort of daze. What she had most assuredly _not_ been prepared for was the King's utterly perfect revenge. She had vastly underestimated Alistair Theirin, thinking him far too naive and common to truly survive in this world of cutthroat politics. Elissa would have been immensely proud of him if she hadn't been shocked into a titillated sort of horror.

Once their engagement had been announced, Alistair had refused to leave her side, circulating through the throng of well wishes like her shadow. That alone would have been tolerable, but what had truly thrown her were the easy and flirtatious touches he had bestowed upon her with such an effortless grace. A trail of finger tips down her neck, a whisper of breath against her ear, an arm snaking about her slender waist to pull her closer. Each contact sent shivers through her skin, and she told herself it was from surprise and irritation, nothing else; she would _not_ allow herself to think it anything more than that.

When the festivities had ended and the couple bid fare well to the assemblage of peers, Alistair had once more swept her into his arms and placed a wholly passionate kiss upon her; his mouth hungrily seeking her to submit and she had willingly complied, ever conscious of their audience. Drawing her into an embrace much as she had done earlier, she felt his lips brush against her ear and she shuddered.

"Enjoying the show, my lady?" he said with a hint of malevolence.

"Care to explain your actions, dear king? I find I am most confused by this sudden shift in feeling," she breathed back, the sound trembling on the air.

"You started this little game, Elissa, I'm just playing my part. If you're disappointed in the outcome, perhaps you'll remember this the next time you seek to plan my life without informing me."

And then he had released her, a love-struck grin plastered on his face as he waved goodnight to the peers of the realm. Elissa had barely managed to respond in kind, so dumb struck by his actions that she was a bit slow to react. Try as she might she could not argue that his performance had not firmly solidified her position in court, and for that alone she could not begrudge him his revenge. The _problem_ she found herself dealing with was that, perhaps, a small part of her hadn't been disappointed in the outcome, as Alistair had insinuated. Elissa would have to be blind to not see how handsome the king was, but she had seen her share of pretty faces in her life and a pair of flashing eyes and a strong jaw were not enough to spin her head. No, it was the way he had expertly touched her that night that frustrated her to no end. The memory of his fingers tracing a slow and sensual line from her neck down her spine kept slipping to the forefront of her mind and she would shiver as the feeling ghosted over her skin in remembrance.

And so she had come to the practice yard, her favorite bow in hand, and spent the morning putting arrow after arrow in the target circle, seeking to banish the memory of his touch with discipline and action. So far she was failing miserably, which only incited her anger towards the man to further heights.

When she had exhausted her supply of arrows she wearily trudged to the target and began to gather them back into her quiver, pulling the bolts free with undue force and muttered grumbles about the nature of the male psyche.

"You're quite good, you know," a voice called out and Elissa whirled around to find a grinning guardsman leaning against the jousting rail. He was a stranger to her, which made her wary, but something about the open merry cast to his features put her at ease and she hesitantly smiled.

"Oh I am aware of my talents," she said haughtily, "Were women allowed to tourney I'd have won quite a few trophies."

"Of that I have no doubt," the man replied before ducking under the rail to join her, "though the prestige that comes with an archery championship is far less than one that comes with swordsmanship."

"Then you shall have to live with my lack of prestige," she said tartly, her eyes flashing in mirth, "for I was never taught how to wield a blade. My father forbade it, insisting that well bred ladies were not suited to the manly arts of war."

"I think the Hero of Ferelden would have a word or two to say to your father about that," the guard replied with a laugh, "You said you were well bred, does this mean I have the honor of being in the presence of the beautiful Elissa Cousland?"

"Beautiful I may be, but I am a woman fast approaching her wedding, sir, you would do well to remember that," she said with a frown, the warning clear in her voice.

"Fear not, dear lady, I have no designs on your virtue," he said with a wink, "your friendship perhaps, but never your virtue."

"Well why not?" she said with mock offense, her smile returning easily with the promise that his flirtation had been harmless, "I am quite the picture of beauty if I do say so myself."

"And any man would be lucky to have you, but alas my soon to be queen, you are not exactly my type," he said in a conspiratorial stage whisper. "Your future husband on the other hand? Now were he and I having this conversation it would be a vastly different story. _His_ virtue may just be worth sullying."

Elissa laughed loud at the revelation and felt herself fully relax around this charming man. Something about him reminded him of Ser Gilmore and the easy way in which they would tease one another. Their friendship had been such a close and easy one since both had made it clear that neither desired the other one in any sort of romantic fashion. Elissa missed her friend dearly and felt the faint stirrings of hope that perhaps she could strike up a similar relationship with this man before her.

"Well, good sir, if you are planning to seduce my future husband straight out of his smalls, I should at least have your name. That way I know who to blame when I find the bed linens rumpled."

"Ambrose, my lady, humble servant and palace guard," he said sweeping her a bow.

"Well, Sir Ambrose, perhaps we could trade skills you and I?" she warmly, "I can teach you how to make an arrow sing through the air and you can teach me to wield a blade. And should I tire of my husband after a fashion I can teach you how to best win your way to his heart."

Ambrose laughed out loud, blue eyes sparkling. Elissa smiled happily, joyous that she had found someone to joke with in her new home. She had feared that once the title of queen hung heavy about her shoulders never would she find companionship without ulterior motives. Ambrose, at least on the surface, seemed to be completely sincere in his overtures of camaraderie and Elissa found that highly alluring.

"It's a deal my lady, though I do not know how you can tire of a man such as him," Ambrose said with a waggle of his eyebrows. A memory of Alistair's lips gliding across hers flashed through her mind and she grit her teeth against the image.

"Spend an hour with him, trust me when I say that his good looks only take him so far," she muttered.

"Lady Cousland?" a voice rang out, interrupting their conversation. Elissa turned and found a confused Eamon leaning over a second story balcony. He looked upon her and Ambrose with a calculating sort of mistrust, an emotion Elissa was surprised to find on the elderly man's face. Surely she had done nothing to warrant such a suspicious glance?

"My lord Eamon," she replied formally, refusing to acknowledge his expression, "is there something you required?"

"Yes, the kitchen staff is ready to meet with you and the King to discuss the feast for your…imminent wedding. Would you be so kind as to collect your future husband and meet me in dining hall?"

Elissa give a quick curtsey before turning back to face her new friend with a look of regret painted on her features.

"I'm afraid our archery lesson shall have to wait," she said sadly.

"Such is the awful burden of being royalty," Ambrose said with a shrug, "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

"Then I am glad to know I am no such thing," she replied with a playful shove. "I shall return tomorrow, if you are available…we could begin then."

"As my queen commands," he said with a grin before sweeping her a bow and taking his leave. Elissa watched him go with a joyful heart, happy that she had at least found one thing about her new life that promised contentment and gaiety.

~oOo~

Alistair Theirin was nowhere to be found. Elissa had searched high and low for the missing regent and with every empty room and unhelpful servant she came across she felt her temper boil over. _Probably touring the damn Alienage again_¸ she thought sullenly, _I wonder what could possibly be so amusing that he would need to visit such a quarter so frequently_? Just when she had about given up in her search, she not only found her errant fiancé, but the answer to her question as well.

"Is this going to spell trouble for me, Shianni?" Alistair's voice mumbled from behind a closed door as Elissa strode past. Heaving a sigh of relief, she raised her hand to knock but was struck into stillness when a woman's voice floated through the wood.

"I'm not sure, Alistair. I didn't exactly hear what was said. But I know that the nature of our relationship doesn't sit well with them," the woman said, her voice bitter, "for an elf to be so close to a shem…well, it's not exactly something that others turn a blind eye to."

Elissa felt her stomach drop and cold nausea sweep through her. She could hardly believe what was hearing, but the words fit into her mind like tumblers in a lock. _This_ was why Alistair had been spending so much time in the Alienage. This woman, Shianni, clearly had a very close connection to her future husband, and while Elissa may have been the chaste and virginal daughter of a Teryn, she was not so ignorant as to not put the pieces together. This was Alistair's mistress…an elf from the Alienage. While she was not shocked to discover that the king had kept a woman on the side (she was hard pressed to name a nobleman in power who did not practice the same behavior) it nonetheless hurt that Alistair had been so cavalier about it. Riding off every day to see his lover, not even trying to be sneaky about it; it was an insult to her and she felt anger well up inside her at the knowledge.

Kitchen staff and wedding preparations forgotten Elissa barged into the room, her posture sporting a calm she did not feel.

"Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt," she said with false politeness as she took in the two people who were now staring at her in shock. "I was searching for his majesty and heard his voice. Had I known he was _entertaining_ I would have knocked."

"Elissa, if you'll just give me a-" Alistair began, irritation plain on his features.

"Alistair, dear, Eamon sent me to find you," she interrupted sweetly, "he said it was most urgent."

"Tell him I'll be there in a minute. Shianni and I were discussing the state of affairs in the Alienage and-"

"Don't worry, my king, I can listen in your stead while you attend to Eamon," she said turning her gaze on the elven woman, "I am quite versed in diplomacy and politics, you know."

"Elissa," he ground out, glaring at her, "I have this well under control."

"And yet there is something you do _not_ have well under control and I suggest you see to it," she snapped back. "Besides, I find myself suddenly most captivated with the elven culture and I intend to receive a thorough accounting. A queen must know her people."

The elven woman narrowed her eyes at Elissa, clearly taking her measure. After a moment she placed a hand on Alistair's arm and nodded slightly.

"It's okay, Alistair, I'm sure our future queen can more than handle what I have to report. "

Alistair sighed in defeat and pushed past his fiancé, sparing her not a word on his exit. Elissa knew she would hear no end of it from him at dinner when he discovered the "urgent" task he was set upon involved planning an elaborate wedding feast, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to care. If her husband was going to indulge himself in a mistress she was damn well going to make a few things clear the woman.

"So," Shianni said when they were alone, "you are Alistair's blushing bride to be. I gotta say, you weren't what I was expecting. Are all noblewoman so brash?"

"Only the ones who manage to keep a hold of their power," came Elissa's cold reply. She took a moment to size up the woman in front of her, and noticed the elf doing the same of her. But whereas Elissa was looking at the willow frame and fiery hair of her rival trying to understand what made her so special, Shianni seemed to be committing every one of Elissa's features to memory so as if to recall them later for some person unknown.

"Let me be clear," Elissa said after a pause, "I am not so naive to think that Alistair will remain faithful to a wife. For all that we may play at it in public, this is not a marriage built on love. He is the king and it is within his right to take a mistress, but I will be damned if I am to be made a fool of because the two of you cannot better find a way to keep your passion under wraps. If you wish to keep spreading your legs for my fiancé, then find a way to do so quietly and secretly, because trust me when I say that while I cannot stop this little affair, I can very easily make your life miserable."

Shianni took in her words and let out a biting laugh, her eyes wide in shock.

"You think me and that shem are lovers? No offense, my lady, but what in the Maker's name gave you _that_ idea?"

"Why else would he trot out to the Alienage every blighted day?" Elissa said, her voice hesitant and bereft of her earlier anger.

"To visit the Bann of the Alienage," Shianni replied dryly, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh," Elissa replied meekly, "I had forgotten that he had bequeathed the elves such a title. It still doesn't explain why we needs to meet with you every day. Surely the elven quarter does not require so close a watch from its regent."

"Clearly you are just as ignorant as the rest of those pig-brained shems if you think that," the elf replied darkly, "but, no, Alistair doesn't come every day to tend to our needs. He comes to hear news of the elf who pushed him into giving us a voice in the landsmeet."

"You mean the Hero of Ferelden? Harlow Tabris?" Elissa asked confused, "why would he want to hear news of her?"

"Because he loves her," Shianni said simply. Elissa felt herself grow dizzy at the words and she hastily sat herself down in the nearest chair, mind reeling with information and questions. She had been right, Alistair had carried on an affair with an elven woman, Elissa had just pegged the wrong one. Suddenly needing to understand how much of a presence Harlow Tabris was going to have in her life, Elissa snapped her head up to meet Shianni's level gaze and squared her shoulders.

"Tell me. All of it, from beginning to present," she demanded. When the elf made no effort to bow to her wishes she put a pleading edge to her voice and tried once more. "Please, he is to be my husband and I think I have a right to know what woman truly holds his heart."

Shianni's eyes softened but she sighed and sat down opposite the future queen.

"It all started on Harlow's wedding day…" the elven woman began. As the words flowed from Shianni's mouth, spinning a tale of adventure and passionate, painful love Elissa felt her heart constrict with each syllable. Even the knowledge that Harlow had ended it, riding off into the sunset with an Antivan elf, did nothing to ease her mind. Elissa understood better why Alistair was so resistant to the idea of their marriage, why he was so bitter and fought her at every turn. She was the woman who was seeking to take his true love's place, no wonder he despised her so. And even if that were not the case, how on earth was she, a pampered and wild daughter of one of the richest men in Thedas going to ever compare with a figure out of legend? Elissa never stood a chance, and for the first time in her life, she felt completely at a loss for what to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Shorter chapter, and we see a bit of Alistair's nasty side. (Also, if I didn't know before I most certainly know now that "Bann" in gender neutral, haha.) Thanks once again to everyone who has review/faved/followed. You are amazing.**

**Speaking of amazing, a friend posted a video to my FB page that was of David Gaider doing a presentation on sexism and sexuality in video games and how they are marketed, focusing on how women/minorities are left in the dust when these decisions are made. It was VERY interesting and well thought out. If you're interested in watching it (it's long, 49 min) google "sexism and sexuality in video games" and the link to gamastura's website should come up.**

Alistair stormed through the hallways of the palace, his fury aimed to a sharp point at one particular woman. Ever since Elissa Cousland had waltzed into his life he found himself in a constant state of irritation and confusion. It had been bad enough when she had slapped him down after their first meal spent together, but when she had kissed him suddenly and moved up the date of their wedding without so much as a "by the way" it had driven him to a new level of anger. His revenge that followed should have brought him some satisfaction and amusement but all it did was ring far too familiar of his last interactions with Harlow. He couldn't deny there was a purely physical attraction to Elissa, she was beautiful, but the ill will he bore towards her had flavored those kisses and intimate touches with a sharp edge…the same edge he had felt with Harlow. The two of them had pushed and wounded each other to the breaking point, unable to let go of their past until all that was left was a sadistic sort of passion. Alistair felt the same when he had pressed his lips to Elissa, felt her submit to his fury and return it in kind with a soft plying of her tongue and hands. She had been thrown by his actions, but it left him with bitter memories and he vowed never to do such a thing again.

He had fully intended on apologizing at dinner that evening but Elissa had even managed to thwart that decision when she interrupted his meeting with Shianni and sent him on a fool's errand to the kitchen to discuss, at length, the merits of various roasts that could be served at their nuptials. All thoughts of apologies and supplication had evaporated when he realized she had subverted his authority and lied to him to achieve her own purposes. Even now he was to meet with her for their dinner, but food was nowhere near the front of his mind as he angrily made his way to chambers. Once he had changed he fully intended on pinning his fiancé to a chair and explaining, in great detail, how things were going to fall out from now on; that he was not the dumbstruck lack wit she thought and she had better start treating him with the respect that was due him.

Such thoughts and emotions swirled through his head, a violent storm of grief, anger, and determination, as he threw open the doors to his bedroom. He was brought to a sudden standstill when he discovered Elissa standing at his window, clad in a velvet gown of deep burgundy, her back to him. His eyes flicked to the table at her side and was surprised to find a meal for two set out along the surface.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, slamming the door behind him. Elissa turned at the noise, her eyes flashing at his tone, but she quickly took a breath and schooled her expression into one of calm.

"I thought that it was best if the two of us dined alone this evening," she replied softly, "Eamon and Fergus have no need to hear the words we speak tonight."

"Expecting a bit of a verbal brawl, lady Cousland?" Alistair asked sardonically as he unclasped the buckles on his armor, letting the massive plate clatter to the floor. Elissa winced a bit at the sound, but kept her bearing tall and straight.

"Yes. I suspect you have a few choice phrases to throw my way and I'd rather you say them privately than humiliate me by doing so publically."

"I have to wonder," he mused as he hastily unlaced his soiled tunic and pulled it over his head, leaving him bare from the chest up, "if you knew what was coming, why do the deed to begin with? Is it your hobby, perhaps, to drive men to such a state that they feel the need to lash out at you? Are you a deviant, Elissa?"

"I will remind you that I am to be your wife and you will keep a civil tongue when you speak to me," she snapped, her skin flushing in hurt at his words.

"And I will remind you that I am your blighted _king_ and not some stable boy that you can order around to amuse yourself," he seethed. "Now sit down so we can get this over with."

"Alistair-" she began, her voice straining to remain civil and detached.

"I said sit _down,"_ he roared, advancing on her until she stumbled backwards into a chair, eyes wide in shock. He gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white with force as he effectively caged her between his muscled arms.

"You may be an expert on how to manipulate and play the game of politics, but you are a dismal failure at how to gain trust and affection," he said harshly, his face inches from hers. "What Shianni had to report could spell a great deal of trouble for the kingdom and instead of hearing what she had to say I spent the afternoon tasting pastries!"

"I know," Elissa said softly, "Shianni told me of the secret gathering."

"As hard as it is to believe, I have been ruling this country for the past two years, and I will be damned if you think to swoop into my life and rearrange it because I don't fit into the fucking nobility's mold of what a king should be. I have given up far too much for the likes of you, I refuse to give up more."

"I know, Alistair," she whispered, eyes locked on his, the orbs filled with surprising sympathy, "Shianni also told me about Harlow."

Alistair pulled back from her as if he had been struck, a look of shocked horror on his face. Elissa watched him calmly, an infuriating blend of pity and despair writ upon her features.

"Was it really necessary for you to have that bit of information?" he asked after a moment, voice gone soft and guarded.

"I believe it was," she replied, rising to her feet in a smooth motion, hands clasped tight across her belly, "if for no other reason than to understand why you are so resistant to even play at showing me affection."

Alistair turned away from her, unable to stand the look in her eyes. He felt enough sorrow and self pity over the situation, he did not need hers added to it. He hoped his behavior and silence would stoke her anger and bring back the self-righteous wench he was used to dealing with, but he was dismayed to hear her soft voice continue undeterred.

"I do not pretend to understand what you feel for her. Having never been in love myself I can only guess at the depths of your emotions," she said hesitantly, "but please know that I have no intention of taking her place. Even if I had such designs on your heart, I don't think I ever could live up to what she meant to you."

Alistair swallowed hard, his muscles tense, still unwilling to face this woman who was being remarkably understanding about the situation. He could feel her eyes roll over his back, as if her gaze were tangible.

"Is that the mark of the poison?" she asked softly, and he unconsciously glanced down at the scarlet stain that curled about his hip, stretching from his lower back to abdomen, tendrils disappearing into the waistband of his breaches.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, "it cost me a kidney and my liver was badly damaged."

A moment later he went deadly still as he felt her fingers hesitantly trace the swirling line, her touch so gentle it fair ghosted over his skin.

"What did she lose?" Elissa whispered, clearly wanting an answer but thinking it impolite to ask. Alistair reached behind and grabbed her wrist, turning about to face her with grave and guarded eyes.

"Something far dearer," was as much an answer as he was willing to give. Elissa was clearly unsatisfied with his response, but refrained from pushing farther, wisely sensing she was treading on dangerous ground.

"We must learn to live with one another, Alistair," she said after a time, eyes locked with his, "and I don't see that happening with the specter of Harlow Tabris hanging over our marriage."

"And I don't see that happening when you take such delight in pointing out my short comings," came his terse reply.

"If I promise to play nice, will you in turn promise to not look at me as if I am some usurper come to claim what is not rightly mine?" she shot back in reply, brows raised in expectation. He searched her face and nodded, sensing it for the lie it was. Elissa herself didn't look entirely convinced of his sincerity, but stepped away from him and strode to the door.

"I'm sorry that you love her, and she is gone," she said as she paused at the threshold, "but I did not choose to take her place. Harlow is gone, Alistair, and I am here. There is nothing that will change that, no matter what prayers you offer up. But while you project your heart ache on me and harm me with your indifference, bear in mind that you are not the only person in this marriage who had to give up something to do their duty."

Alistair watched her go, unsure as to what exactly he could say that would mean anything to her in that moment. He wasn't sure that any words he spoke would even do any good, if not outright harm, and so he had bit his tongue and said nothing; a talent, he realized, he was getting better at with everyday. It was a dangerous habit to form, one that brought him shame instead of righteous satisfaction he had craved only moments before.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the delay my lovelies! I kept getting interrupted while writing this and if I'm interrupted it find it harder to get back into the grove and finish. But here it is! And we finally find out how Elissa spent the blight. **

**Also, don't worry, I haven't completely forgotten about Mortain and his creepy cult of elves. Just wait for the wedding (mwahahaha).**

**Lastly, miracle of miracles, I updated my BtVS/DA crossover fic. If you love Buffy as much as I head over and check it out! (It's called Chosen and Joined)**

Elissa stared into the large, wrought iron mirror before her, eyes dull and unfeeling. Through her open window she could hear the excited chatter of a crowd milling about in the garden courtyard. The sound barely seemed to reach her, nor did the straining tug of her corset strings being pulled ever tighter by her maid. Indeed, nothing seemed penetrate her stoic shell that day: the day she was to be married.

After her conversation with Alistair she had found herself in the strange and terrifying position of wanting to hide herself away from the man. Whereas only days before she had sought to unravel the mystery behind his distant behavior, once she had been armed with the answers she felt an overwhelming desire to remove herself from any situation in which they may cross paths. Perhaps it was because the look of utter longing and crushing heartbreak in his eyes had haunted her since the night they had discussed Harlow. Not that she loved Alistair, far from it! No, she merely did not want to be reminded that in _his_ eyes, she was less than. Having been taught from the cradle up that she was destined for a life of power and riches, Elissa was not comfortable with the thought that someone so unlike herself could rival, nay _surpass_ her, in every way. She was not _so_ pampered that the idea angered her; she was intelligent enough to know that not everyone viewed the world around them in quite the same way, merely it was a situation she had never before encountered and as such, was woefully unprepared in how to go about dealing with it. And so, like a coward, she hid…yet another emotion foreign to her experience. Say what you would about Elissa Cousland, cowardly she most assuredly was not.

She had filled her days with explorations of the castle, throwing herself into her soon-to-be duties by immersing herself in the life of the palace. She met with every servant the castle boasted, taking their measure with a calculating and shrewd eye. Some of them would be sacked once she took the crown, having decided their loyalty suspect, but the majority would stay. Alistair had filled his house with dedicated and hard working people, and Elissa found no need to completely overhaul the staff simply because they fell within her domain.

When not interrogating the maids and kitchen boys, Elissa could be found in the practice ring, growing ever closer to her new friend, Ambrose. The man was a miracle worker in that, for a few precious hours, he could almost make her forget her feelings of inadequacy. All he had to do was flash a mischievous grin and spit out a witty phrase and she was lost in a fit of giggles. Their lessons in the art of war were the highlight of her day and she took great pride in herself when at last, after much trial and error, she watched Ambrose plant an arrow in the center of a target ring. Her own lessons in wielding blades were coming much slower. The discipline was so contrary to that of archery that she often found herself cursing in a most unlady like manner as she fumbled through the exercises Ambrose attempted to teach her. Despite her lack of grace, her friend assured her that she was progressing and given time she would master the art.

These sessions that brought her such joy were almost ended permanently when Eamon had happened upon the pair three days into their training. Elissa's body had been pressed close Ambrose's, her arms gently pushing and guiding him into the proper position to release the bow string. Ambrose, true to form, had muttered a bawdy joke at her expense and she had laughed, unaffected knowing that he was not the least bit interested in her _in that way_. Unfortunately that was the moment the ex Arl came upon them. Elissa still remembered the way the man at looked at her with such undisguised disapproval and accusation. Had she been anyone else, some other daughter of nobility, she would have been mortified and begged forgiveness, but she was Bryce Cousland's daughter, and if nothing else the man had instilled in her a deep sense of pride. Knowing she had done nothing to earn Eamon's disapproval, no matter what the situation appeared to be, she had adamantly refused to offer apologies or explanations for her behavior. After that, Elissa had been irate to discover that Ambrose had been assigned to a different guard shift, and as such would no longer be able to attend their lessons. Elissa managed to subvert Eamon's attempt at controlling her life by simply refusing to attend her nightly dinner with Alistair. Instead she met with Ambrose by torchlight once he had been relieved and they continued to grow their friendship and skills beneath the stars. Ever since then, Eamon had barely managed to be civil towards her, clearly upset that she had not instantly cow-towed to his silent command.

_None of that will matter after today_, she thought, a little spark of joy igniting within her. In only three hours time she would not only be wed but crowned and her word would supersede Eamon's. Let him try to end her friendship with the guard; she would laugh as she struck down every attempt. The reminder that she and Alistair were to exchange vows in such a short time instantly sobered her and she once again retreated to that bleak place she had inhabited since she awoke that morning.

Just as her maid and finished lacing her corset a knock sounded at the door and Elissa turned, expecting her brother to walk across the threshold. Alistair, instead, appeared, and she stared at him with an open mouth, utterly surprised by his appearance. With a flick of his hand he motioned for her maid to leave, and within seconds the pair were left alone in silence.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded after a moment, "It's bad luck for you to see me before the wedding!"

"And since the luck we've _been_ having has been so spectacularly good, it's quite the risk I'm under taking," he said wryly. Elissa couldn't help but quirk a grin at his words, realizing how ridiculous she had sounded.

"True enough, my king, but the question remains, why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you…before…everything happens," he said softly, running a hand through his hair. "You look….very nice, by the way."

Unconsciously Elissa turned to regard herself in the mirror, hands running self consciously down her dress. Having immediately vetoed a gown of flaming Theirin red, claiming the color upon her honey skin made her look sickly, she instead settled on a low cut dress of pale lavender silk with a brocade corset of buttery yellow; a muted version of the Highever colors. Her hair had been pulled back from her face and piled low at her nape, flowers expertly woven through the elegantly tangled mess. Initially her desire for the posies had been to irk her future husband, a subtle reminder of their first meeting, but the sighing girl within her could not help but admire the beauty of it.

"Thank you," she said demurely, "what did you want to speak of?"

"I haven't seen you much since…" he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable to even bring up their last interaction.

"Yes, well…it didn't exactly end well for either one of us," she said smartly, willing herself to hide her discomfort behind a wall of sass and indifference. "What, then, would be the point of reliving it? Unless you enjoy the feeling of awkward and painful conversations. Are, you, perhaps, the deviant, Alistair?"

"I deserve that," he said flinching, "I was angry and wanted to be cruel. Had you met me three years ago such an insult would never have passed my lips."

"And now?" she prodded.

"Now I have a temper, one I find is rather difficult to keep in check around you," he said softly.

"Your majesty, you must be careful. Keep talking like that and you're liable to spin my pretty head with such praise," she said with mock affection.

"Well, you make it pretty damn hard to act otherwise," he snapped before taking a deep breath and composing himself.

"As my brother had told me with great frequency," she said with a sad smile, "a flaw in my personality to be sure. You wanted to speak? Then sit and we shall, though time is a bit of a factor."

"I can't be your husband," he blurted out suddenly. When Elissa's eyes widened in shock and panic he hastened to explain, "I mean, I'll marry you, I will, but to truly be your spouse? To give you all the physical and emotional courtesies owed a wife? I don't think I even have those in me to give anymore."

"Gifts I never asked for, Alistair," she replied with an impatient sigh, "through all our delightful conversations have you not picked up on this? I never asked you for anything more than pretend, do not insinuate otherwise."

"And that truly doesn't bother you?" he pressed, disbelief clear in his tone. "Elissa, I may think you are a harpy sent to vex me for Maker only knows what purpose, but even you are not so cold as to truly want a marriage without even the barest hint of affection."

"You truly wish to know what I want?" she snapped, rising to her feet, "Very well, I shall tell you. Do you know how I spent the blight, Alistair?"

"We assumed you were one of Howe's hostages, being held as a surety against his claim on Highever," Alistair replied dismissively, completely at a loss as to what the blight could possibly have to do with this conversation.

"Howe never touched me," she seethed, eyes flashing with utter hatred at having to speak the man's name. "While that villain sacked my home and slaughtered my family I was making my way across Ferelden on horseback, returning from yet another failed attempt to marry me off to some pock-marked nobleman. Word of Highever's fate reached my party just barely ahead of Howe's men. I was forced into hiding, being secreted away in cellars and barns of those loyal to my father. For a year I sweated, and toiled, and hid in the filthiest, more dire conditions you can imagine. Every single facet of myself that had been bred and instilled so thoroughly in me since birth shattered that year, and I became I stranger to myself. And I have _never in my life_ been happier than I was then."

Alistair's jaw dropped open at her confession, sure he had misunderstood her words. But when he took in the glowing flush of her skin, the fire burning deep in her glittering eyes, he knew she meant every word she said.

"For the first time my life was my own. Yes, it was in constant peril, but I was in control of it. To make my own decisions, to know that from that moment on I had a future that was unknown and not planned down to the last minute detail; it was the greatest gift ever given to me. Even now a dark part of me wants to thank that bastard Howe, because had he not destroyed my former life so entirely, I never would have known what it was to be free."

"Elissa…" Alistair trailed off, complete at a loss for what to say.

"But I knew the moment the blight ended, when Howe lay dead and the heroes stood in triumph, I would have to return. The love for my family is too ingrained and so when your precious Harlow killed the archdemon I returned to Highever and once again became the well bred, dutiful daughter. You asked me what I want, Alistair, I want my freedom, but that is something you cannot give me, so kindly refrain from asking."

Silence descended upon the pair, heavy and oppressive. Outside, a group of musicians struck up a merry tune, the notes wafting in through the open window; a sharp and mocking contrast to the emotions that swirled through the room. Distantly Elissa could hear a bell toll sharply, and her eyes fluttered closed. Their time was up, duty called.

"We should go," she said softly, brushing past him in her haste to leave. His hand came hard upon her arm, fingers gripping tightly. She turned and was surprised to find a look of fierce compassion and understanding on his face.

"Then leave," he said, the words gentle, "Go. You do not need to do this, you can have your freedom, Elissa."

"And return to Highever?" she said with a bitter laugh and a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, "Alistair, it is merely trading one prison for another. If I do not marry you, than it is someone else. At least if I tie my fate to yours I have the opportunity to _do_ something with my life. As cages go, it is better to be locked in one that's gilded."

He watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek before she turned away and effortlessly slipped out his grasp. Elissa took her exit without another word, and Alistair stared numbly after her, a strange blend of dread and the desire to set things right tumbling through him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Ugh, this was a bitch and a half to write. But now that we're past the wedding I can really start getting into the meat of their relationship, so hopefully it will be far smoother sailing from now on. And despite what I hint at, there will be no lovin' soon to come (sorry). **

**I got a job btw! So while I will attempt to keep chapters coming at the pace they have been, occasionally it may take longer between installments (no more than four days, I promise!)**

**Also, for those who have been following "Chosen and Joined" expect a new chapter up tomorrow or the day after!**

Elissa took comfort in her brother's solid presence pressing against her side. After her conversation with Alistair she had needed something familiar to anchor her and remind her of all the reasons she had agreed to marry. While every syllable of her words had been completely true, she nonetheless felt guilty at having given them the weight and breath of speech. Elissa had loved her parents dearly, despite the restrictions they had placed on her life. Even now, should she so desire, she could conjure the sound of her father's rich laugh ringing through the stone walls of Highever. The scent of honeysuckle on the wind would bring her mother's face into stark relief and she would be swept away in memories of a life lived before this one. Her family had meant everything to her, and it was that dedication that kept her glued to the floor instead of running in the other direction. They would have expected this of her, to see her duty through and bring esteem to the Cousland name.

"What do you think father would have made of all of this?" Fergus asked, as if plucking her very thoughts from her mind.

"Oh, father would be having a grand old time," Elissa said with a wry smile, "were he here you'd think it was _his_ special day and not mine."

"True enough," her brother replied with a chuckle, "he'd have used it as an excuse to take credit for every one of your admirable qualities."

"Why Bryce! You're daughter is the very picture of beauty," Elissa said in a high falsetto, mimicking a well wisher.

"Yes, she is. A much more feminine version of myself. A comely appearance is a Cousland trait you know?" Fergus replied in a deep baritone reminiscent of their father, "And smart as a whip too! I personally taught her every bit of history and statesmanship she knows, it being a specialty of mine."

Elissa laughed at the impression, knowing that while it was an exaggeration, it did ring all to true of their beloved patriarch. Fergus grinned back and pulled his sister close, an arm slung over bare shoulder.

"He would be ever so proud of you, little sparrow. You have grown into a fine woman, and I know you will be an exquisite queen. I only wish he were alive to see you in all your glory."

"You know who I wish was alive to see this?" she said softly, gazing down at the bouquet of orchids and roses clutched tightly in her hands, "Rendon Howe." Fergus gave a jerk and pulled back, sure he had misheard his sister. "That way he could see how spectacularly he failed in his attempt to wipe out our family's power base. It would really gall him to see me crowned queen."

"Be that as it may, I think I prefer the thought of him rotting six feet underground," Fergus muttered as the sound of the musicians striking up the processional reached his ears. Elissa took a shuddering breath and drew herself up tall and straight. After taking a moment to ensure all was in place from her long, trailing veil that hung down in her back in a whisper of lavender lace gracefully cascading to the length of her train, to the precise angle at which she held flowers, Elissa gently slipped her arm through Fergus'. Her brother glanced down at her and she flashed him a dazzling smile, slipping into the role of eager bride without a second thought. The music swelled to a crescendo and the pair stepped purposefully into the arched doorway of the castle's ball room.

_Ready or not, here I come_, Elissa thought as she began the slow and long walk to her new life.

~oOo~

She was beautiful. Of that Alistair could not even begin to doubt. The muted colors of her gown brought a soft richness to her skin, and her hair was a study of chaotic elegance, delicate sprays of trembling lilac blossoms twined throughout the strands. He was hard pressed, however, to focus on her appearance when her words and wishes for freedom still danced through his head. The fierce and utter longing in her voice filled so much space with in him, that for a moment, he had completely forgotten about Harlow. He had always expected his wedding to be a bleak, and heart breaking affair; a day where he would constantly be out running reminders of the woman he had lost; as if she were a spirit sent to plague him from the fade. Elissa Cousland and her sudden confession had changed all that, and the memory of Harlow was a dull, a distant throb within him.

He understood all too well what she was feeling. Having been first raised in the chantry and then recruited by the Grey Wardens, he too had never felt the sweet relief of being truly free. Even as king his life was not truly his own, the most evident display of that being the woman walking down the aisle towards him. So he understood her yearning for a life not constantly bound by duty and sacrifice, it was something he himself had once, foolishly, thought to have.

Alistair watched as her brother gently kissed her cheek and murmured something low in her ear. Elissa smiled wryly, her mask of court polish slipping at Fergus' words, and Alistair was almost taken aback to see a genuine flash of joy upon her face. It was there a gone as she turned to climb the dais, her steps measured and deliberate. When at last she stood before him he took her hand in his and the two turned to face the Reverend Mother, sinking gracefully to their knees in supplication.

It was long, as chantry ceremonies tend to be; the droning tone of the Divine's voice weaving a soothing spell of devotion and dogma. When at last she bid the pair to rise and exchange vows, Alistair once more faced his intended, and found her staring up at him with a panicked look in her eyes.

"Elissa Cousland, you stand before the realm to pledge yourself to our King, Alistair Theirin. Speak your vows so that your love may be blessed in the Maker's eyes," the Reverend Mother commanded softly, gesturing grandly with a withered hand.

"I, Elissa Cousland, take you as my wedded husband," she said, her voice clear and even, despite the frantic look in her gaze, "I vow to forsake all others, and keep you only unto to me as a wife should a husband. I vow to forever bind my fate with yours, Alistair Theirin, 'till death parts us."

When it was his turn to speak the words, he could no longer stand the anxiety that seemed seep from her very being and he found himself acting without even thinking.

"I, Alistair Theirin, take you as my wedded wife. I vow to forsake all others, and keep you only unto to me as a husband should a wife. I vow to _share_ my fate with yours, Elissa Cousland," he said softly, pausing to place a comforting hand upon her cheek, his eyes full of understanding and mercy, "and I promise never to place you in chains of my making. I swear this, 'till death parts us."

Confused and titillated whispers filled the great room as the Reverend mother struggled to regain her footing, so unprepared was she for a deviation in ritual. Alistair ignored it all; his eyes locked with Elissa's as he silently urged her to understand what he was offering. She gazed back in shock, a thousand emotions flittering across her face. He would have been disappointed when she seemed to settle on stoic indifference, but he had caught that flash of utter gratitude and knew that his words had made the impact he desired.

Eventually the Reverend Mother regained her wits and proceeded with the ceremony. Rings of chased silver were exchanged before the couple were bid to seal their marriage with a kiss. They had agreed on a chaste and proper kiss, unwilling to scandalize the nobility more than they already had with their petty games. Because of this, Alistair was very surprised to feel Elissa fiercely press her lips to his, lingering far too long for what was deemed "acceptable." He knew it was not a kiss of passion or love, but one of thanks, the only action available to her at that moment for her to truly express her gratitude. When they parted, her eyes were tear bright as she turned away to kneel once more to receive the Divine's blessing of her coronation.

Alistair watched, barely hearing the words being spoke. His mind was too full of what had just transpired, and the knowledge that he was, truly, married, hit him hard. The wedding was over, and he had survived, something he never thought would happen. The marriage awaited, however, and despite the newly shared understanding between them, Alistair wasn't quite sure it would be a peaceful or happy undertaking.

~oOo~

"May I have this dance, Your Highness?" Ambrose asked with a wicked gleam in his eye. Elissa laughed and placed her hand in his, her sweeping train thrown over one arm.

The reception was well into its third hour and Elissa had finally managed to relax enough to take some joy from the festivities. Alistair's coded declaration of allowing her as much freedom as he was able had rocked her to her very soul, and she barely remembered her coronation that had followed. But once she had gotten some food in her belly and, perhaps, one too many glasses of rich red wine, she was slowly allowing herself to enjoy the festivities around her. Ambrose's presence had done a great deal to bring out her merry side, for he was never far away, always finding a moment to whisper a witty observation when he passed her way. Twice now she had choked on her wine, startled into laughter at his comments. She had insisted that he remain off duty for the day, and issued him an invitation over Eamon's incredibly vocal objections. Elissa took a smug sort of delight as she glanced the man's face turn red with anger as he watched the pair glide across the dance floor. She was, however, ever mindful of appearances, and spared a moment to ensure that her husband took no umbrage with her partner. For his part, Alistair seemed barely aware of her behavior, so caught up in a discussion with Shianni to notice her.

A pang of some unpleasant emotion coursed through her as she watched the pair speak, unable to stop herself from wondering if the topic at hand was that of Harlow Tabris. Such a notion was easily dismissed when she saw frustration and not heartache flash through Alistair's eyes. Satisfied that all was well, or as well as it could be given the circumstances, she returned her focus to Ambrose and gaily twirled about the room, laughing as he spun her ever faster in an effort to amuse her.

A wave of angered and startled gasps rose from the crowd and Elissa became puzzled as the music abruptly came to a halt. She swept her gaze around the room and was utterly surprised to find an unfamiliar elf pushing his way purposefully towards herself, and by extension, Alistair.

"Mortain," Shianni called out, her voice gone hard, "care to explain just what you think you are doing?"

"Why, I was invited, my dear Bann," the man said regally as he produced a thick piece of parchment from beneath the folds of his shabby cloak. Elissa turned at the sound of a chair scraping back against stone and found Alistair striding angrily down the dais and towards the man. She spun back around as Ambrose plucked the supposed "invitation" from the man's hand and inspected it with a thorough and calculating eye. All the while the elf smiled pleasantly at the crowd, but his steel grey eyes belied an anger so strong it bordered on outright hatred.

"It appears he speaks the truth, my lady," Ambrose muttered as he pocketed the parchment, "Though a good forgery isn't out of the question."

"Yes, it must be a forgery," Mortain hissed, his eyes narrowed, "for the idea of an elf to be invited within the palace walls is beyond ludicrous. We must then all be perpetrators of fraud for such a thing to happen."

"Or perhaps it is so because I have never met you before," Alistair replied as he came to stand at Elissa's side.

"Oh but you have heard of me," Mortain responded with a dark confidence, flicking his gaze to land upon Shianni, who was silently seething behind them. "I know all too well that your little pet elf has informed you of my…activities."

"I am _not_ his pet!" Shianni cried out at the precise moment that Alistair called for the guards. Elissa stepped between her husband and the unwelcome guest, arms held out in a silent command.

"I apologize, my lord Mortain," she said calmly, eyes locked unflinchingly on his, "You are an invited guest and have been treated abysmally. Please, enjoy our hospitality and join us in the celebration."

"As if I would partake in any hospitality offered by the shem," he replied with a sneer, "tell me, _yourmajesty_, how many elven women slaved over your gown only to be paid half of what they were owed?"

"None," she stated evenly, "for my dress was commissioned in Highever and stitched by my personal seamstress."

"How very noble of you," he sneered, "I can see why you favor her so, Your Majesty, she's quite the beauty. She would have to be for you to cast aside the elven woman you claimed to love."

Alistair growled and stalked forward, his fists rising as he advanced on the now smirking elf. Elissa gripped his arm tightly, silently commanding him to stay his hand.

"I do not deny that Harlow Tabris is a great woman; truly she is a hero to both elves and humans alike. I hold nothing but the deepest of admiration for her. Alistair may have loved her once, but she has found happiness in the arms of another, as your king has found in me. I do not seek to take her place, and you would do well to remember that," Elissa said diplomatically, her voice edged with only the faintest of warnings.

"She is a lesson you should take to heart," the man replied menacingly, "not all elves seek to submit to their human overlords. Harlow was one of them."

"I refuse to let you use my cousin's name as a figure head for your shit-brained scheme, Mortain," Shianni seethed from across the room, "were she here she would knock you on your ass for your behavior."

"My good lord, if you did not come to join us in celebrating the union of my husband and myself, then pray tell why did you grace us with your presence? Surely it could not be to simply threaten your liege?" Elissa said stoically as she sought to keep the tension from rising to unmanageable levels.

"I came to take the measure of the man who allows twenty plus elven citizens to wither away under the bonds of slavery," Mortain said through clenched teeth, his hands fisted at his sides. Murmurs of outrage rippled through the captivated crowd, and Elissa held a hand up for silence.

"Shianni has told me of the unfortunate instance of slaving within the Alienage. She has also spoke of how you are a slave returned, your freedom bought with hard earned coin."

"And has _Shianni_ also told you how that coin was acquired?" he prodded.

"She has, and if I were a man such as you I would refrain from speaking of it, if only to spare my wife abject humiliation," Elissa murmured softly, her eyes flashing in anger.

"And I think you've had more than enough time to take my measure," Alistair interjected, stealing away the man's focus. "You have overstayed your welcome, Mortain."

"Ambrose?" Elissa called out, "Be a dear and escort our guest back to his home. Along the way take a full accounting of his time spent abroad. I wish to know every detail of his trials."

"It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty," her friend muttered before roughly grabbing Mortain's elbow in crushing grip. The elf stared daggers at the royal pair, an unspoken threat of more trouble to come hanging heavy in the air.

"Good evening, my lord Mortain," Elissa said diplomatically, "should you wish to discuss this matter further you may request an audience with His Majesty, or myself. I look forward to speaking with you soon."

As Ambrose dragged the sullen man away, Elissa turned to her still seething husband and sighed wearily. Excited and scandalized whispers rose from the gathered guests who had watched the scene play out with rapt attention. When the day began Elissa had thought it would have been trial enough to make it through the ceremony…clearly she had been optimistic in her estimation of the event.

"This is only going to get worse," she muttered and Alistair snapped his head around to face her.

"What gave you that impression?" he replied sarcastically. Shianni angrily strode to join them; steam fair shooting out her ears so great was her rage.

"I'm going to beat that man senseless, I swear Alistair," the elven woman shrieked, "he's been a thorn in my side ever since he came back to Denerim."

"You will do no such thing," Elissa insisted, voice firm and commanding. "If Mortain wants to play at being the revolutionary that is more than fine. We just need to ensure his uprising never gets off the ground."

"We?" Alistair inquired, "Elissa, I think it's best if I handle this-"

"And I think you have far too personal a stake in this," she replied calmly. "You made a vow to me Alistair; it would hurt me greatly to know you intend to break it so soon after it was spoke."

Her husband flinched as if he had been struck, but he closed his eyes and nodded. Elissa felt a wave of guilt wash through her, and she regretted using his words as bargain to hold over his head. But she truly felt that she was firmly on the side of right in this; Alistair's feeling for Harlow would color his judgment to sharply in his dealing with the elves. It would then be left up to her to fix this mess that had fallen into their laps.

"I think the time for celebrating has ended," Alistair said quietly, as he glanced around at chattering nobility. "Should we…I mean…I suppose that all that remain is to…"

"Yes, my king," Elissa said, her throat suddenly gone dry, "I think it best that we retire."

Alistair nodded and hesitantly gripped her hand in hers. All eyes in the ballroom turned to glance their way as they slowly made their way up the grand staircase and out of sight. Elissa could feel herself trembling with every step, and she could not help but glance at her husband, wondering if he could feel the evidence of her unease. If he could he made no note of it, and Elissa swallowed hard as the door to their bed chamber came into view. She took back her earlier thoughts…crazed elves were hardly intimidating when faced with the prospect of losing one's virginity.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Ladies and gentleman, I give you tension…delicious, wonderful tension. **

**Thanks once again to all my readers! Your reviews, pms, and favs/follows completely make my day and keep me going. Metaphorical cookies to all of you! **

**Also, I changed the "your highness" to "your majesty" in the previous chapter (I should have done my research into royal titles, forgive me). As always, constructive criticism and technical errors are welcome. **

**Lastly, for those who care/are interested, I posted a new chapter to "Chosen and Joined" yesterday, check it out. **

Normally the prospect of being locked behind closed doors with a beautiful woman was enough to have Alistair's common sense take leave of him, but not that night. Yes, a distant part of him did idly wonder how it would feel to trace a slow and sensual line across that honey kissed skin, but his irritation overrode such thoughts.

"Care to explain, my dear wife?" he ground out as he harshly closed the door. Elissa turned to him with genuine bafflement and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Explain what, Alistair?" she inquired as she nervously twisted her hands.

"Why you felt the need to so thoroughly undermine me in front of half the realm?"

"Undermine you? I was _helping_ you!" she exclaimed defensively.

"And such a help it was," Alistair sneered as he pushed by her, hands rising to unclasp the uncomfortable brocade doublet that wrapped about his torso. "I'm quite sure the nobility is having a grand old time recapping how brilliantly you subverted my authority and claimed it for your own. Everyone knows I _do_ strive to entertain my guests in whatever manner is open to me, so thank you for that."

"Would you rather I have let you beat the elf bloody?" Elissa snapped and she yanked the delicate veil from her hair, fingers combing through the strands to loosen the twenty plus iron pins hidden beneath the mass.

"It most certainly would have made me feel better," Alistair grumbled as he let the doublet fall to the ground, his attention turning to unlacing the thin under tunic that covered his chest.

"I'm quite sure it would, and then the nobility would have a grand old time recapping how delightfully common their King had behaved, but what can you expect from a bastard?" she mumbled in reply as she fumbled behind her back in an effort to loosen the strings that bound her corset.

"A king, bastard or not, knows when to make a show of strength," he growled impatiently, angrily strinding to stand behind her. Elissa stiffened when his hands pushed hers away and harshly tugged at her laces, the corset parting with an audible sigh.

"And a king also knows when to show restraint," she snapped back as she peeled the stiff garment from her torso.

"Well, then I am most _pleased_ that you were there to act the part for me," Alistair seethed stepping away from her once more.

"I will say this one more time, Alistair," Elissa said patiently as she shoved her gown's sleeves passed her shoulder, "I was doing my best to diffuse the situation in an effort to _help you._ If you had risen to that man's bait it would have given him even more passion and fire to take back to his followers. Come morning the Alienage would have been abuzz with talk of the elf with the wounded face; bruises courtesy of King Alistair himself. You would have handed him his revolution on a silver platter and all the thanks you would get is six inches of steel in your belly!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I, perhaps, had a plan of my own, Elissa?" Alistair stated roughly, bending at the waist to remove his breeches and kick them away in anger. "I am all too aware of what Mortain is playing at, and my intention was to chuck the man into the dungeons and try him for treason!"

"And make him a martyr to his people?" Elissa barked out a laugh, "I take it back, beating him bloody would have been far better."

"Be that as it may," Alistair said, his eyes narrowed, "regardless of the outcome it does not change the fact that you publically humiliated me. Do not seek to do so again."

"Damnit, Alistair!" Elissa cried, "This is what I do! It was what I raised to do since I was old enough to form words. I can dance the steps of politics far better than you and it was why I was chosen to be your wife. Let me do my damn job!"

"At expense to my own? I think not, dear lady. Why does everyone assume I'm some bumbling fool who can barely dress himself let alone affect policy in any real way? I defeated a sodding blight! Or does that little detail get lost in translation when one discusses my shortcomings?"

"When you behave like a drunkard in a tavern brawl, yes!" Elissa snapped as she let her gown pool to the floor in a slither of silk. She daintily stepped out of the fabric before angrily closing the distance between the two. "But while we're on the subject, no, I do not find you a bumbling fool. I find you impulsive, unsure, completely distracted by the past, and scrambling to cover it all with a layer of puffed up masculinity just itching to lash out."

"How very droll you are, Elissa," Alistair said low and dangerous as he shifted ever so slightly forward, "You speak as if you yourself aren't seeking to cover your own share of emotional hurt. You are out running ten different kinds of pain and you hide it all behind the visage of the bitchy, pampered rich girl, completely unreachable and frigid."

"Despite what you think of me, I stand by my actions tonight, Alistair."

"If you take nothing away from this conversation, at least try to remember this," he said fiercely as he gripped her shoulders in his hands, fingers unconsciously kneading her flesh. "I am not my brother and I will _not _allow you to be a clone of Anora. We will not reenact scenes from their failure of a marriage, and I will not have you pulling the strings from behind the throne when you find fault with my ruling."

"How very fortunate for you as I have no intention of ruling from behind a throne," Elissa mocked sweetly, her dark eyes flashing with temper, "I find it far more effective to do so when standing in front of such a thing."

"You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met, and that _includes_ Morrigan!" Alistair snapped, pulling her close in an effort to display his aggravation.

"Likewise, your Majesty," she hissed back.

It was only then, as anger flared between them that Alistair's head cleared enough to take in their position. He himself was clad only in a pair of white cotton breeches, suitable for sleeping, and Elissa…well she was in little more than hose and an under corset, the boning pushing her heaving chest up high. They were pressed so close to one another that he could feel her agitated breath fan across his skin in a hot rush. Despite how very, _very_ put out he was with the woman, he could not stop himself from glancing at her full and trembling lips and remember how expertly she had kissed him the night their engagement was announced. Flicking his eyes back to hers, he caught the moment she realized their same position and a delicate pink flush crept across her cheeks, her breath becoming uneven with an emotion completely opposite of anger: nervous anticipation.

Alistair quickly released her from his grasp and hastily stepped away. Elissa stumbled a bit and let out a surprised gasp as she sought to regain her footing.

"We will speak more of this in the morning," he muttered as he busied himself with turning down the bed linens, "I find myself overly exhausted."

"Alistair…are we to…" Elissa inquired hesitantly, voice quiet.

"Do you honestly think that after a conversation such as this I am in the best of moods to do…_that?"_ He asked incredulously.

"In the mood or not…it is expected. We must," she said, eyes downcast and refusing to meet his.

"I rather think we don't," was his terse reply.

"Alistair…you don't understand. To ensure my…station is intact there must be proof of our…coupling," she huffed, silently pleading for him to understand. When no such recognition came over him she let out an exasperated breath closed her eyes, completely horrified to be having such a conversation. "Lesson the third, my king-"

"Stop with the blighted lessons," Alistair ground out through clenched teeth.

"Servants talk," Elissa continued, "you'll find they know far more about politics than anyone else in all of Thedas. So what do you imagine they will say when they discovered the bed linens free of any blood…any tell tale sign that I was…that I _am_…"

"You're saying that unless we lay together and furnish proof of your purity that come tomorrow morning you'll be labeled a harlot?" Alistair asked incredulously.

"I doubt it will take more than an hour for the rumor to circulate," she replied bitterly. Elissa watched as a war of emotions played over Alistair's face. Anger and irritation were expected, but she was surprised to see a flash of predatory desire overtake him for a brief moment. She held her breath and waited, steeling herself against the inevitable course her words would set in motion.

"Very well," Alistair muttered eventually, eye's half lidded and swirling with unnamed emotions. She watched as he turned from her to open a worn chest that lay next to the bed. When he produced a shining dagger and locked eyes with her once more, determination set in his jaw, she had no time to ask him his intentions before he brought the blade against his palm in a hard and fierce line. She stared in shock as he held his hand above the linens and let a trickle of blood fall upon the mattress, leaving a dark, scarlet stain.

"Your virtue, and reputation, shall remain intact," he said softly as he tossed the dagger to the floor. Elissa stared at him dumbfounded, mouth open as if words were about to tumble from her lips. "Goodnight, Elissa."

He lowered his gaze and gracefully climbed into the bed, turning his back on her once settled and refusing to say another word. Elissa let a moment pass before following suit, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. This man was such a conundrum to her; one minute she was so infuriated with him she could barely see straight, the next…he would show her these brilliant flashes of compassion and she would be completely thrown.

Sleep was hard in coming that night, for both occupants of the royal bedroom. Alistair and Elissa were both far too aware of each other's presence, and contrary to what they would ever admit out loud, the memory of the intensity with which they spoke and the knowledge that only scant inches separated them was enough to keep them awake well into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: First off, thank you once again to everyone who takes the times to read my musings and review, you are wonderful, and a special shout out to KatDancer2 for continuing to be my unofficial beta, thanks for keeping me as grammatically correct as possible! **

**Sorry this took so long…I had fourth of July parties to attend and I found out an old friend of mine passed away two days ago, so I wasn't really in the mood to write. **

**This one's for you Zonker, even though it probably isn't your cup of tea, it's all I got. I'll miss your laugh, hon. **

Alistair slowly swam to the surface of awareness the next morning, his eyes blinking sleepily against the soft light drifting through an open window. He felt as if he had not slept at all; the invisible pressure of Elissa's presence had haunted him through the night, seeping into his subconscious and affecting his dreams when he had managed a few fitful hours in the fade. Even now he hesitated to move, ever mindful of her slender figure resting not six inches from his own. When he heard the soft sounds of someone moving about the room he hesitantly rolled to his back, head turning to find the other half of the bed empty. He sat up in confusion and blearily blinked about the room.

"Good Morning," a soft voice murmured and Alistair turned to find Elissa standing by the window. She was blessedly clothed in becoming gown of delicate grey, the familiar mask of stoic indifference firmly in place.

"Good Morning," he croaked, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"I wanted to thank you…for last night. You didn't…it was a courtesy," she said stiffly, eyes never rising to meet his.

"Yes, well…I have a manly reputation to consider," Alistair joked lamely, his attempt at humor failing.

"We will have to, eventually," Elissa said quietly, "I am duty bound to produce an heir. Otherwise I suspect Eamon will convince you to seek a divorce, citing me barren as the cause."

"Why would Eamon give a nug's ass whether or not you're barren?" Alistair inquired as he slid out of bed, blushing slightly when he remembered his attire.

"While I do not pretend to guess at his motives, it is a behavior that is quite commonplace with him. He sought to do the same for your brother and Anora," Elissa said quietly.

"He what?" Alistair asked, coming to a frozen standstill, voice empty of anything but shock and disbelief.

"You didn't know?" Elissa said skeptically, "It was quite the juicy bit of gossip in court prior to Cailan's death."

"Yes, well, I was a bit busy fighting for my life against the darkspawn horde to be present for such illuminating news," Alistair said with a shake of his head as he quickly crossed to his armoire to fetch some clothes.

"You understand then the stakes which are in play, Alistair," Elissa continued in her detached and cool voice, "I have a finite time to get with child before those who council you decide I have out lived my usefulness."

"Well when you put it like that, how can I help but throw you on the bed and take you with all the passion in me?" Alistair scoffed, clearly put out at her clinical recitation of the subject.

"I'm not asking for passion," Elissa said softly, eyes downcast. Alistair lifted an eyebrow at her tone, sure he heard just the faintest hint of hurt in her voice. "I know I am not what you desire. Having heard tales of Harlow I am quite certain she and I could not look more different, and I know that you find my personality lacking. So while I am quite certain the experience would be nothing more than an unpleasant duty, we nonetheless must fulfill it."

"Elissa," Alistair said on a sigh, dropping the clothes in his hand to lie forgotten on the ground. "Look, yes, you and Harlow could not be more different from each other, and yes, there are times I wish I could slap a hand over your mouth just to give myself a bit of peace, but do give me some credit."

"Credit?" Elissa asked, baffled.

"I may not be the most observant man in the world, but I'm not blind," he said patiently, turning to gather his garments and hastily dress himself. Once properly attired he turned to regard her once more, finding her looking at him with a quizzical expression. "You are a beautiful woman, Elissa, but I don't particularly relish engaging in physicalities as a means to an end. Even with Melly-" He stopped himself, the woman's name coming hard to his lips. "I just prefer for there to be _something_ behind the act other than duty. Besides, I'm sure I'm not a young maiden's dream come true, at least not yours, considering how frequently you yell at me."

"I…I…that is to say…" Elissa stammered, suddenly overtaken with nerves.

"Holy Maker, it's a miracle!" Alistair called out with a grin, "The Lady Cousland at a loss for words! This is a day that shall live in infamy and truly it will be the hallmark of my reign."

"I am not at a loss for words," she snapped, fighting the grin that threatened to curl at the edges of her lips, "I am merely…taking the time to choose my words. It is a social courtesy."

"Such pretty lies to fall from your lips," Alistair continued jovially, "Do not feel bad, you are not the first woman to fall prey to my loquacious talent."

"Loquacious talent? My but what a big word for such a common man," Elissa snarked back, losing the battle to keep her smile from her face, "I am surprised you know the meaning."

"You will find I know quite a few surprising things, my dear wife, all of them more glorious and charming than the last."

Silence filled the space between them, and their matching grins faded as they realized what had just transpired. Alistair cleared his throat with a quiet cough and let slip a nervous chuckle as he glanced quickly away from his wife.

"None of that now," he said lightly, "we're supposed to hate each other, remember?"

"I do not hate you, Alistair…detest, despair, tolerate…but never hate," Elissa said stoically, "and I'm sure given time I will once again find myself in a shouting match with you, never fear."

"Good, that's well…good," Alistair finished lamely before quickly striding to the door, intent on making a hasty exit. "I shall leave you to your tasks, Good day Elissa."

"Wait!" She called out and Alistair froze, turning hesitantly to regard her over his shoulder. "I wanted to inquire if you would like to tour the Alienage with me. I wish to know more of this Mortain and exactly what trouble he plans to heap upon our doorstep."

"I thought you wanted me out of elven politics," Alistair said softly, the first hint of anger seeping into his voice.

"You let the past cloud your vision when it comes to the elves," Elissa said proudly, "and I still do not think you are best equipped to deal with this threat but…I was wrong to so blatantly wrest your authority from you. I still intend to oversee the matter, but it would not be amiss for you to…be kept abreast of what it happening."

"Two miracles in one day?" Alistair said mockingly, his eyebrow quirked in surprise, "At a loss for words and an apology not two minutes later? Pinch me, I must be dreaming."

"Keep it up and you'll be praying for a pinch," Elissa seethed, gathering her skirts into tight fists as she angrily strode by her husband to make her exit, "it will be the least harm I will do to you. Infuriating man."

"Ah, there's the wife I have come to know and cherish," Alistair said with a roll of his eyes before following her out the room, "So good to have her back."

~oOo~

Mortain watched from his perch in a branch high in the trees as the King and Queen of Ferelden strolled through the streets of the Alienage, chatting in patronizingly polite tones to the elves that crossed their paths. Shianni, the traitor, was right by their side, pointing out a particular sight or child who merited attention. As Alistair chuckled softly at something the red haired elf had said, Mortain felt his fingers tense against the branch he held, knuckles gone with strain.

"Look at her," he muttered to himself, "selling herself out to the shems; so very _pleased_ to be a member of the court…she's positively beaming with her new found status. How nice it must be for her to be above her kin, pampered and adored. I'd love an opportunity to put her in her place…show her the penalty for forgetting from whence she came."

He took satisfaction in thinking how lovely it would feel to wrap his slender fingers around Shianni's neck, feel the bones squeak in protest as he pressed ever tighter. Mortain was pulled from his reverie when he saw Sabine hurry out from a dark alley, eyes down cast and not heeding her surroundings. When she collided with the king she let out a frightened gasp and swayed on her feet, balance faltering. Mortain felt a white hot rage overtake him as he watched the man grab her arm, righting her gently with a charming smile. Growling low he swung down from the tree and landed with a soft thud upon the dusty ground, silver eyes gone feral.

"Sabine!" he snapped, the word a command that would brook no refusal. His wife turned at the sound, face flinching, and hastily stepped away. Alistair, the Queen, and Shianni all turned their attention to him, expressions ranging from anger to irritation to cool indifference as they took in his presence. "You should be home," he said coldly to his wife. The elven woman nodded quickly and scrambled away, posture hunched and bent like a beaten dog. He felt a moment of regret sift through him, knowing he was the cause for her fear. But the memory of the king's hands upon her, the way the hands of hundreds others had been, steeled him to her emotions. His anger was justified, his punishment just; he believed this in the center of his being and he would not apologize for setting his wife on the proper path. She was his to do with as he pleased, and no one would tell him otherwise.

"Lord Mortain," the Queen murmured politely, "how fortunate you have come upon us. I very much wished to continue the discussion we began yesterday. Will you join us as we take the air?"

"What more is there to discuss?" he sneered, "you had me hauled away by your guardsmen, escorted back to my home like a criminal. I think that pretty effectively ended whatever discourse we he had."

"I do not believe that was what transpired," Elissa replied coolly, "I _believe_ I set a guard on you to ensure no harm came to you upon your return to the Alienage, and along the way he was to take a full accounting of your tale so that His Majesty and myself had a better understanding of how to help you."

"Dress it up how you will, I call it humiliating all the same," Mortain growled, feet shifting as he clenched his fists, "and perhaps I would not need an escort were my people allowed to arm themselves."

"How fortunate you should bring that up," Elissa said with a wicked smile, as she turned to face the king, a hand coming to rest lightly on his forearm, "my dear husband was just telling me of his intent to take the necessary steps to ensure such a thing."

"Yes," Alistair said after a brief pause, shaking himself and clearing his throat, "it is something I have been thinking on for quite some time."

"How many did you say, my dear? Fifteen?" Elissa inquired and Mortain watched as the King frowned down at her, clearly not taking her meaning.

"Ten I believe was what I said," Alistair said after a moment's consideration, his voice hesitant and guessing.

"Ah yes, ten. His Majesty has decided to appoint a contingent of ten guards to patrol the Alienage. Such a squadron would be made up entirely of elves, handpicked for their bravery and skill by the Bann to Alienage," Elissa said gracefully, turning once more to focus on Mortain.

"A lie sweetened with hope is still a lie," he countered, voice filled with hate. "You claim to grant the elves a means to defend themselves but offer only more oppression, this time at the hands of our own."

"Surely you do not expect a transformation over night?" Elissa countered, her voice gone patronizing and harsh, "Change happens in slow degrees, and his Majesty would see the elves prosper in the proper way."

"I have nothing but faith in the elven people," Alistair said harshly, "it would be a shame to see such a faith misplaced. Should the guard show restraint and professionalism we shall speak further of loosening the restraints on the citizens."

"How very gratifying to know we bear your faith, your Majesty," Mortain murmured, "Truly, I am humbled by your admission."

"And I find I am pissed off at your attitude," Shianni interjected, stepping between the King and the sullen elf, "Alistair has given us something amazing and all you can do is shit all over it like an untrained dog. Think! If we have our own contingent of guards they will have the power of the crown behind them. We can stop the shem from looting our stores, raping our women, and not fear retribution because those halting the crimes are our own people with the full force of the law behind them!"

"That is the last time you get to call me a dog, Shianni," Mortain threatened, his voice low.

"I call you what you are Mortain," the elven woman replied, eyes narrowed, "though I suppose dog is too kind. Anyone who threatens the crown and beats his wife into submission is nothing less than a monster."

Mortain struck out without thinking and cracked Shianni across the jaw with a fierce back handed blow, his soul fair purring with pleasure at the sound. Immediately he heard the sound of chainmail creaking as the guards accompanying the monarchs surged forward.

"Hold!" he heard the queen call out, eyes a blaze with fury as she turned Shianni's head to inspect the damage. "Shianni…are you well?"

"As if this piece of nug shit could ever hurt me," Shianni replied with a fierce sort of grin. "I'm far stronger than anyone gives me credit for."

"What do you wish to do with him?" Elissa asked softly, her eyes seeking the elf's. Mortain watched in shrewd fascination as the two women engaged in a silent conversation; words expressed with coded glances and minute facial tics. Eventually Shianni sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

"Let him go," the elven woman said eventually, "he's not worth my retribution." Elissa nodded, letting out a relieved sigh, and Mortain's ears pricked in interest at the sound. _How interesting_ he thought maliciously, _Our fair queen does not wish me locked behind bars; it does not suit whatever game she is playing. I can only hope she is prepared to lose._

His reverie was interrupted as the King stepped before him, his bulky and solid frame a shield between himself and the women.

"If you ever raise a hand to that woman again, trust me when I say you will not live to see it bruise," the monarch rumbled low and menacingly.

"How very regal of you, threatening the elves; you fit right into the role of king, Alistair," Mortain baited, an evil grin spread across his face.

"You do not get to call me by name, you piece of filth, you will address me by title," Alistair ground out, temper fraying.

"Ah…so it's just your elven whores who earn that right then?"

Within in seconds Mortain found himself flat on his back blinking up at the bright blue sky, his jaw throbbing in pain. Rolling over with a groan he caught a glimpse of the King and Queen angrily exiting the Alienage, Shianni hot on their heels. Chuckling gently he pushed himself to his feet and watched their departure with smug satisfaction.

"That could have gone better," a voice murmured from nearby and Mortain turned to find his friend Simon step out from behind the great tree.

"On the contrary," Mortain said gleefully, "I believe that will serve our purposes quite nicely."

"And the guards?" Simon countered, "It will endear quite a few to King Alistair for granting us such a thing."

"Do not mistake it, Simon," Mortain said with a grimace as his jaw throbbed uncomfortably, "she may have given him the credit, but that was the Queen's brainchild. She's a tricky one…a daughter of politics and pretense, she will be difficult to topple."

"There are other ways of dealing with her," Simon offered lightly, tone never betraying the darker meaning of his words.

"If it comes to that," Mortain replied dismissively. "Come, we must gather to plan the next step."

"You hit Shianni," Simon stated as the pair turned to walk away, "how did that feel?"

"Better than sex, my friend," the elf replied darkly.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Two chapters in one day? What? Clearly I have been taken over by a pod person.**

"Again," her opponent called out, his jaw firm and set beneath the helm. Elissa grit her teeth before adjusting her grip on the daggers cradled loosely in her palms. Seconds ticked by as the two circled each other warily, feinting with their blades in an effort to spur the other into action. Eventually Elissa rushed in, bored with the game and made to strike at her opponent's midsection. Her dagger was easily swept away by a bone jarring shield block and she desperately fought to keep control of her weapon. Snarling in a rage she spun about, elbowing her opponent in the face, before dancing behind the man to swipe at hamstrings. When the leather of his breeches parted in protest she faired crowed her pleasure, only to be thrown to the ground by a sword arcing just over her head. Attempting to get her feet under her she was immediately halted when the tip of a sword hovered above her pulse point and she glared up at the victor.

"Better," Ambrose said as he lowered his weapon, hard rising to raise his helm. "You surprised me with that elbow, and a nice tactic with the hamstrings. Were we using live blades you might have crippled me. But you're still too impatient."

"I can't stand all this dancing around and posturing," Elissa grumbled as her friend helped her to her feet, "it's tedious. Besides, of my many virtues, patience was never high on the list."

"Not so virtuous from what I hear tell," Ambrose said with a waggle of his eyebrows, "tell me, did the King overwhelm you with his passion?"

"A lady never tells, Ambrose," Elissa replied aloofly as she sheathed her blades and slung her bow from her back.

"Oh don't go all high born on me, Elissa," her friend pleaded, "How else am I to live vicariously through your torrid affair if I have no details to keep me warm at night."

"From what _I_ hear you have very little trouble keeping warm at night," she teased, eager to change the topic at hand. As much as she adored the man, she did not trust him enough to reveal that her and Alistair had yet to do so much as kiss behind closed doors, public performances aside.

"Are you calling me a cad, dear lady?" Ambrose asked in mock outrage.

"'Tis not I who does so, my lord, but your conquests," Elissa said conspiratorially, "Now enough of this foolishness, fetch your bow. My lesson is over; time for yours."

"You cut me to the quick," Ambrose lamented as he obeyed, slinging the weapon from his back, "clearly you are aware of my latest triumph."

"I find it difficult to keep track, it is so very time consuming and I am very busy and important," Elissa said snootily as she drew the bow string back and eyed the target in front of her.

"Yes how very demanding it is to see to your gorgeous husband's needs, but had you the inclination you would find that I have not taken a new conquest to bed in over a week," Ambrose said with barely contained smugness. Elissa was so distracted by his words, not only the declaration of his love life, but of the unbidden image of her and Alistair entwined flashing through her head, that she completely missed the target and shot wide. Ambrose chuckled in glee and she rounded on him in surprise.

"Are you saying that you are, horror of horrors, thinking of settling down?" she demanded, a girlish sort fire overtaking her.

"Perhaps," Ambrose hedged, turning on her with a mischievous grin, "but until I receive details of your husband's performance I find myself quite unwilling to offer details."

"For every arrow you put through the center you will have an answer," Elissa countered, certain that his skill not yet sufficient to warrant many answers on her part. It would be easy enough to lie if it came down to it.

"Answers to what?" A voice called out and Elissa fair jumped out of her skin as she turned to find Alistair striding across the practice yard towards them. Ambrose could barely contain himself as she sought to muffle the hysterical giggles that threatened to overwhelm him. Elissa groaned inwardly, wishing fiercely that the earth would crack open and swallow her whole.

"We were just discussing the merits of long term commitment," Ambrose supplied through laughter and Alistair quirked an eyebrow, clearly not believing the coded declaration.

"Yes, but should you have use of the yard we can most certainly discuss it at a later date," Elissa said through clenched teeth, unsubtly warning her friend to watch his tongue. He simply grinned at her in return, eyes sparkling with devilish mirth.

"By all means, continue," Alistair replied, interest peeked despite his lack of understanding, "I'd like to see what exactly it is you've been teaching my guardsmen."

"You heard him, Elissa," Ambrose said happily as he pulled his bow string back, flashing her a grin, "As the king commands."

"You have the most appalling timing," Elissa grumbled as she folded her arms over her chest. Alistair looked at her in bewilderment but wisely chose not to ask for clarification.

Ambrose's first arrow hit just shy of the center, and Elissa let out a breath of relief, hoping the rest of the quiver would follow suit. When the fourth hit the mark, Ambrose turned to her expectantly and she cringed inwardly.

"First question…satisfying?" Ambrose asked slowly, clearly wanting to spare her utter humiliation but goading her nonetheless.

"Yes," Elissa muttered, unwilling to unman her oblivious husband. "Next arrow."

"I expect a far more enlightening answer next time," Ambrose said in disappointment before turning once more to the target. Three more attempts passed before he once again struck true.

"Gentle or rough?" he inquired. Elissa could not stop herself from glancing quickly at Alistair, remembering the way their anger had flared between them, bodies pressed close and fierce.

"Rough…unsurprisingly," she said softly, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.

It took twenty more minutes and three more appalling questions before Ambrose had at last exhausted his supply of arrows. Elissa could tell by Alistair's shifting posture that he had caught on to the game and was doing his best to play the part of ignorance. When Ambrose at last gathered his arrows from the target Elissa stomped angrily towards him under the pretense of pointing out technical errors.

"I will find the most abysmal duty imaginable to punish you for that," she spat in his ear, "I hope you enjoy latrine duty, Ambrose."

"Just having a bit of fun," her friend said wickedly, "thank you for the information, it was _quite_ enlightening."

"I hope you get a rash. A painful one," she muttered. Her friend just laughed in response before bowing politely to the pair and taking his leave. Elissa watched him go through narrowed eyes, her embarrassment humming through her veins.

"Care to explain just why you were answering questions about my sexual prowess?" Alistair inquired and Elissa closed her eyes, unwilling to face the man lest he see her humiliation.

"I apologize, Alistair…Ambrose does so love to bait me, and I should not have risen to it in your presence. But we did agree to keep up appearances…."

"I don't know whether to be offended or grateful," he mused, placing a hand upon her should in a bid for her attention, "you paint me out to be quite the lothario."

"Well I couldn't very well make you out to be a eunuch, I may be snarky, but I'm not cruel," she conceded, turning to face him. "Although without firsthand experience I had to go off personality to answer."

At the mention of firsthand experience Alistair turned distant and dropped his eyes from hers. Elissa realized her error and rolled her eyes, thoroughly put out at his reluctance to see this farce of a marriage through.

"You've taught him well," he said after a minute, head nodding in the direction of her departed friend. "If you're twice as good as he you're extremely talented."

"Twice as good? Your Majesty I am a hundred times more adept than he," Elissa replied smugly, her pride bristling.

"Is that so?" Alistair asked, a disbelieving tone to his voice, "I believe I require a demonstration."

Shrugging, Elissa turned to the targets, took aim, and let an arrow lose, smiling triumphantly as it buried itself in the dark red center.

"Satisfied?" she inquired. Alistair shook his head and strode to retrieve a bow from the nearby rack of weapons.

"Hardly," he countered as he once again stood by her side. "Care for a little competition?"

"I don't think I shall endear myself to you by so thoroughly unmanning you in the arts of war," Elissa countered, though inside she was yearning to show her strength.

"You forget I spent a year traveling with a group of women who could beat me into the bloody ground with but a thought," Alistair replied dryly as he let lose his own arrow, smiling happily when it hit the center, "But I understand if you are scared-"

"I am _not_ scared," Elissa said tightly, her pride and anger prickling, "name your terms."

" Most arrows dead center claims a forfeit of the loser. And I find I too would like an answer for each perfect hit," Alistair said immediately, his eyes flashing in triumph at having baited her.

"Do you too wish for an accounting of your performance as a lover?" Elissa shot back, seeking to goad his anger.

"I do not need any such thing, my dear lady," he said with uncharacteristic wickedness, "I am told I'm _more_ than adequate."

Elissa blushed furiously, willing her face into a scowl to hide her flustered state. Surely Alistair was not _flirting_ with her? So distracted by his comment that when she let her arrow fly it struck the outer rim of the target and she frowned.

"I never thanked you," Alistair murmured in concentration as he took his turn, disappointment etching his features as his own arrow went wide, "For what you did at the Alienage. It was thoughtful to give me credit."

"Think nothing of it," Elissa replied as she shot. Smiling in triumph when her arrow struck true she turned to Alistair with a look of haughty superiority. "I believe I shall go easy on you, considering how very many questions you will soon be answering…do you agree with plan for the elven guards?"

"Truthfully? Yes," Alistair replied, as he peered at the target, "it is quite brilliant, though I do wish you had not sprung it on me without so much as a 'by the way."

_Twang_. Elissa grimaced when her husband's turn ended with a dead center hit. Pulling another arrow from her quiver she waited patiently for her inquiry.

"What do you miss most about Highever," Alistair asked, and Elissa was brought aback by the question, shocked that he had asked something so banal.

"A friend of mine, Ser Gilmore," she answer at last, "he didn't care for all the world that I was a Teyrn's daughter, and I found I could truly be myself around him."

The game continued as did the questions, as arrow after arrow found its way to the small red ring at the heart of the target. Elissa answered as best she could; fumbling the truth when he inquired too close to things she'd rather not speak of. She sensed that Alistair could hear the lie in her voice but he never pushed, simply nodded at her answers and gesturing for her to continue.

"Do you regret coming here?" he asked hesitantly and she swallowed hard in response, eyes unwilling to meet his.

"I do not think this is something you wish me to discuss," she replied softly, fingers fiddling with the strong of her bow.

"None the less I would like an answer."

Sighing inwardly, Elissa closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward, as if beseeching the gods themselves to aid her.

"It is not a yes or no answer, Alistair," she said evenly, "It is where I was sent, and fulfilling my family's wishes is very important to me. And I believe that given time and understanding I would make a passing fair queen. But…I do not relish the prospect of a marriage built on pretense and barely concealed anger, and I am not exactly comfortable with being the position of second best. I can never be Harlow, despite the fact that my competitive nature dictates I try."

"Do you regret my coming to Denerim?" she inquired when it was her turn once more.

"No," he said simply, his voice firm and unrelenting. She turned to him surprise, waiting for clarification, but the determined set of his jaw led her to believe that no further explanation would be forth coming. Alistair missed the mark on his turn, and when she once more struck true she found herself blurting out the next question unthinkingly.

"Do you truly think I'm beautiful?" she asked, voice trembling with embarrassment.

"As if you are not aware of that very fact, Elissa," Alistair snorted, eyes rolling heavenwards, "Yes, you're quite the vision. Something I do begrudgingly thank the Maker for."

"How true, though with your stunning personality and eagerness to frustrate at every turn it would serve you right if I were a troll," she snarked. Alistair turned to her, annoyance flaring in his eyes, but softening when he saw her grinning at him, no trace of malice in her features.

When at last all arrows had been fired they silently strode to the targets and tallied their points. Elissa smiled in satisfaction at her number of successful hits, but began to worry when she saw a similar amount of arrows fisted in her husband's hand.

"Who taught you archery?" she inquired, curious as to how a templar trained grey warden who clearly favored a sword could strike so true with a bow.

"An Orlesian bard named Leliana," Alistair replied, "she traveled with us during the blight and is now my ambassador to Orlais. The persistent woman insisted I learn, said it would instill in me a measure of grace I was sorely lacking."

"And do you find yourself more graceful?" Elissa prodded.

"You remember our reception," Alistair snorted, "or at least your tender feet should. I think I tromped upon them enough to sufficiently answer your question."

"And here I thought you were simply venting your frustration and aggravation towards me," Elissa replied wryly as she held out her arrows.

"Well, there was that as well," Alistair countered and despite herself, Elissa found laughter ringing from her lips. The compared their victories and Elissa was pleased to discover she had indeed won, though only by a slim margin of two arrows.

"I concede defeat, my dear lady," Alistair said grandly, "What forfeit would you claim of me?"

Elissa pondered silently, truly thinking of what she could request. The snarky, bitter part of her urged her to lash out, seeking a punishment for his earlier behavior, but the part of her that had enjoyed their competition overrode such whisperings. It was only when a brilliant, yet underhand thought came to mind did she answer, secretly hoping that were he to agree, her intentions would not upset him. From what she had witnessed of him today, she did not think he would be too put out at her scheme.

"I'd like you to throw a tourney," she blurted out, eyes wide and hopeful.

"A tourney?" he asked, clearly having expected a different answer, "not power, or-or jewels?"

"We you to offer those I would not turn them down, but that is not what I claim of you."

"Very well, if it is a tourney you want, a tourney you shall have," Alistair said with a shrug of his shoulders. Elissa smiled happily, her mind already turning over plans and schemes; she would have to secure Ambrose's help, but she was sure the man would be all too willing to cause a bit of trouble on her behalf.

As they returned their weapons to their proper places, Alistair looked at her with a studious eye. When Elissa quirked a brow at him, wanting an answer for why he studied her so, he frowned.

"I like you this way," he said seriously.

"And that displeases you?" she countered, confused by his expression.

"I did not expect such a thing…" he murmured before turning and taking his leave. Elissa watched him go with a swirl of emotions coiling through her chest. She was shocked to discover the malice she once bore the man softening with each passing day, and such a thing concerned her greatly. Shaking her head she turned her attention once more the weapons rack as she unslung the quiver from her back.

"Infuriating man," she muttered, though a slight smile ghosted her lips.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: wow this was a long one…next up after this: the tourney! Where Elissa is sneaky, Alistair oblivious, and Eamon seeks to mettle. **

**You know what's awesome? Apollo Wings, **_**that's**_** what…or rather who as they are a person. Anyway, the lovely Apollo very graciously gave me a little present based on a prompt I fed her, and it was bananas (literally) how awesome it was. Check out Apollo's work, truly magnificent, and if so inclined give a prompt of your own…you won't be disappointed, I swear!**

It had been a busy two weeks in the city of Denerim. The populace was abuzz with talk of King Alistair's upcoming tourney, and knights and nobleman from the four corners of Thedas flooded the city walls, all eager to test their mettle against one another and earn some fame and glory in the bargain. Elissa, for her part, had kept herself quite busy throughout it all, playing the part of the doting Queen and wife with poise and elegance. When not dancing attendance upon her guests, she was overseeing Shianni's recruitment of elven guardsmen. Despite their best efforts the two women had struck up a friendship of sorts, each finding common ground with their shared sense of spirit and spine. It was a volatile, if not exciting, relationship, and the walls fair shook from their infamous screaming matches, but Elissa found herself admiring the elven Bann, and their daily meetings were fast becoming the highlight of her day. Whereas her as Alistair's arguments were meant to goad and prick each other's tempers until they exploded in a passionate torrent of words, the verbal sparring matches with Shianni were, well, downright fun.

It is not to say the time passed without incident. Mortain and his fanatics began to grow a foothold within the Alienage and already had organized five separate demonstrations in the market square. After the first, in which an elven man, barely out of boyhood, had been beaten so severely by city guards that he would never walk again, Alistair had issued severe decrees stating that should another non-violent citizen meet a similar end, the offender would receive the same injuries blow for blow.

Elissa had watched him erupt on his men, his eyes fiery and his voice booming with unleashed rage. He was magnificent in his fury and she had been drawn aback to see him so commanding and regal. For the first time in her eyes he looked every inch the stately and powerful king, and try as she might she could not shake the image. It, of course, did not stop her from pointing out a mistake in his wording once the pair had left the barracks, and he had rounded on her with the same anger that he had just unleashed on his men. She gave as good as she got and they were once again battling each other with insults and outrage. Ever since their awkward archery competition such moments had been coming with greater frequency, but the verbal quagmires ended with far greater speed than they once had. Elissa was far quicker to apologize than she once had been and Alistair had the most infuriating habit of inserting his own brand of wit into their spats, and she would find herself laughing against her better judgment. Damn hard to hold the upper hand when you're snorting through your nose. Even still, each outburst was terrible in its weight, and for hours afterwards the passion with which they had spoke would simmer in Elissa's veins, morphing into an all together different and unwelcome emotion.

In such fashion did two weeks pass and the city was restless; half its citizen's a hair's breath away from bloody revolt, and the other half eagerly awaiting some royally sanctioned blood sport of their own. Despite the turmoil, Elissa managed to find the time to squeeze a bit of shopping in to ward of the unpleasant side of her duties.

"It smells," Shianni said with a wrinkle of her nose as she pushed the pot of cosmetic away from her face.

"That's how you know it's of quality," Elissa replied cheerfully as she sought to dab a bit of the cream upon the elf's cheeks. "Nightingale droppings do wonders for one's complexion and are thought to bring an inner light to the skin."

"You're smearing bird shit on me?" Shianni shrieked as she slapped the pot away, the porcelain shattering the second it hit the floor. Elissa let out a groan of dismay as she mentally added the cost to her already growing list of indulgences.

"Yes, very expensive bird shit that you just purchased by way of smashing. That cost fifty sovereigns, Shianni!"

"You'll pay for nightingale droppings but when I put pigeon shit in your cosmetics you turned into relentless shrew and screamed at me until my ears blistered. Women: why do I even bother trying to understand?" Fergus muttered from his post in the corner. Elissa rounded on her brother with a sweet and endearing smile.

"Shut up Fergus darling," she said dismissively, "you're job is to hold packages and look dour."

"So good to once again be back in your charming presence, sister dear," he replied with a roll of his eyes. He had taken up residence in the castle once more, his estate in the city having been overrun by knights from Highever seeking to participate in the upcoming tourney. Elissa had been both eager and hesitant to have her brother so near. She was unsure as to how he would react to her and Alistair's ever confusing and volatile relationship. It was a near certainty he had heard them going at it one night, voices raised over some incredibly stupid and minor thing, but to his credit he said not a word to her of the altercation, though she could see the concern in his eyes.

"As much as I love watching you two smear feces on each other can we _please_ find another shop to patronize?" Ambrose interjected his tone bored and listless.

"We aren't leaving until Shianni agrees to appear every inch the noblewoman at the Tourney," Elissa said, her eyes sparkling, "I will not be satisfied until every knight is begging to wear her favors."

"There is one surefire way to see that through," Ambrose said suggestively and Shianni rounded on him with a wicked grin.

"I don't think you're allowed to offer advice on whoring around anymore, Ambrose," she said mockingly, "from what I hear, Torin has kept you quite tame these past weeks."

"Torin?" Elissa gasped, happy to at last have a clue as to her friend's mystery lover. "It has a name!"

"_It_ is an elf," Shianni offered conspiratorially, "one within the newly formed elven guard."

"Well that is convenient isn't it?" Elissa said dryly and Ambrose stuck his tongue out at her.

"I hate you all, and I'm leaving. Should you wish to apologize for your appalling behavior you will find me in the weapon's emporium," her friend stated haughtily before grabbing Fergus by the elbow and dragging him with. "Lord Cousland, be a dear and divulge as many painful and humiliating stories from her childhood as you are able so that I may lob them at her like knives when next we speak."

Elissa laughed gaily as the men exited the shop, turning her attention back to Shianni, who was looking after the pair with scare disguised longing.

"The sooner you give in, the sooner we can leave," Elissa said simply, pulling yet another jar, this one a creamy rouge of peach, down from the shelves.

"Why are you so damn concerned with tarting me up?" Shianni demanded as she reluctantly held still under the queen's ministrations.

"Because appearances are important. You are a noblewoman now, and the more you look the part, the more a voice you will have."

"Paint me up all you want, I'll never look the part," the elven woman said fiercely, spitting her words out with great disdain, "unless you plan to file down my ears, I'll always be less than, my voice quieter than the privileged sea around me. Stop treating me like your personal elven doll who you can turn Shem with a little imagination."

"And stop acting like you don't look at the fine dresses and pretty hair every time you are in court with such longing it borders on vulgar," Elissa snapped in reply, throwing the compact to the ground. Distantly she heard the shopkeeper groan, but chose to ignore the man. "I'm not trying to turn you human, Shianni, but maybe just maybe, you could stop acting as if every aspect of 'shemlan' life is shit under your boot heel!"

"Having spent my whole life walking through shit, I can very easily recognize it in all its forms!"

"Then perhaps you should look to your backyard," Elissa seethed, "for I grow weary of the utter bullshit you spout on a daily basis!"

"Maker above you are impossible to talk to!" Shianni cried throwing her hands in the air.

"So my husband has told me with great frequency," Elissa muttered before angrily gliding over to the low counter at the other end of the room where her purchases waited to be tallied. Silence filled the shop, the only sound the scratching of quill on parchment as the proprietor added up all the luxuries to be bought.

"Maybe," Shianni said reluctantly, "I do, somewhat, fancy the fashion at court." When Elissa quirked an eyebrow, lips still firmly shut and offering no opinion, she let out a huffed breath and folded her arms tightly across her chest defensively. "None of that ridiculous Orlesian frippery you wear, but other things…simple and sumptuous…perhaps."

"That frippery is the height of fashion," Elissa replied as she paid the beleaguered shopkeeper, "And as such it would not do for you to wear it, regardless of your preference. I can't have a _lowly_ Bann dressing in such a state; I have appearances to keep up."

"Wench," Shianni muttered.

"Trollop," Elissa countered, a small grin playing at her lips. When the elf returned the expression Elissa gathered up her packages and grandly deposited them in her friend's arms.

"Why do I have to carry them?" Shianni griped as she struggled to find a firm grip.

"Because I am the queen, and you are lucky enough to be my lady in waiting this afternoon."

"Don't quite recall agreeing to that," Shianni muttered as the pair exited the shop into the late afternoon bustle of the market.

"Queen's pleasure and command my dear," Elissa said brightly as she scanned the nearby stalls, a bolt of forest green silk catching her eye. "Oh! This would be perfect!"

"Perfect for what?"

"For you! With your hair and eyes, you will be the very picture of autumn woods made flesh. The knights will not be able to stop themselves from begging your favor!" Elissa cried with delight, already pulling coins from her purse to pay for the fabric.

"Why are you so damn concerned with matching me up, Elissa?" Shianni asked angrily, boxes wobbling as she sifted her stance. "We elves have our own traditions when it comes to that."

"You'll have to name an heir eventually, and I'm not about to see you lose your chance while you spin out your days in spinsterhood," Elissa said smartly as she plopped the bolt down onto the already over burdened elf.

"I'm not a spinster, and how dare-"

Shianni was abruptly cut off by a scream sounding from across the square. Seconds later a group of curious citizens went running by, their destination near the arms district. Shianni and Elissa shared a heartbeat of a look before reaching the same conclusion.

"The men," they breathed in unison before sprinting off towards the chaos, packages lost and forgotten in the dusty street. They passed a dwarven vendor hawking dwarven crafts (or "dwarven crap" as Ambrose had called it, insisting those were the words the enthusiastic man was shouting) and Elissa paused to snatch a bow and quiver from his display. Not even deigning to reply to the dwarf's outraged call, she continued on her path, skidding to a halt outside the weapon's emporium.

It was chaos, a fierce skirmish between elves and humans. The humans were woefully unprepared, overwhelmed by the sheer number of their opponents. The elves fought viciously, if not clumsily, and already three lay slain, the blood soaking the dusty ground beneath their corpses. In the midst of the turmoil were Ambrose and Fergus, back pressed together as they were consistently pressed to the defensive. Two city guards who had been stationed nearby had joined the fray, but the odds were not in their favor. Elissa watched in horror as her brother took a knife to the shoulder, his strangled cry ringing desperately in her ears. A distant part of her knew that as Queen she had a duty to seek shelter, remove herself from the volatile situation and wait for help. But the part of her that was a sister, a friend, a Cousland, overrode her common sense and she found herself raising her bow without a second thought, arrow loosed only seconds later to bury itself in the nearest enemy.

Commands were barked between the elves as they regrouped to meet the new enemy in their midst. Elissa paused to take in their measure, sadly noting that not a one could have reached twenty years. She was loathe to strike down children, but when a throwing dagger whizzed past her head, she realized she may not have much choice in the matter. Her heart breaking, she readied another arrow and let it fly.

"Elissa! What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!" Ambrose cried out, his voice harsh as he continued to hack his way through opponents.

"Shut up and concentrate!" she snapped back as she continued her assault. Behind her Shianni was screaming at the elves, demanding they drop their weapons and stop acting like "irresponsible twats with fuck all for brains who will ruin everything." Needless to say, her shrieks went unanswered.

"Shianni! Stop screaming and do something useful!" Elissa commanded as she loosed another arrow, "I believe this would be the perfect time to test the elven guard, yes?" Shianni's eyes widened in understanding and she raced away, beating a dusty path towards the Alienage.

Elissa exhausted her quiver quickly and was put on the defensive, using the bow to block incoming swings, the wood splintering with every blow. Eventually it snapped in two and the elven male she had been fighting smiled at her maliciously. She sought to evade his reach, diving to the floor behind him, but he was too fast and she found herself staring down the blade of a lethal sword, the tip hovering over her chest.

"In the name of the King, throw your weapons to the ground!" a booming voice called out and Elissa felt herself sag in relief as she saw a contingent of guardsmen round the corner, led by none other than her husband, steel drawn. The elf before her tensed in anger, his hand shaking as he debated whether he should carry out his intention.

"Think, child," she murmured, eyes locked with his, "should you strike down Ferelden's queen things will only get worse for you and yours. My husband takes treason very seriously."

The elf's eyes widened and Elissa realized the man had no idea who he had been fighting. He hastily flung the sword to the ground, arms immediately raised in surrender. Elissa's eyes flickered in relief and she collapsed on the dusty street, adrenaline leaving her in a rush.

"Maker's breath, are you ok?" a voice above her asked, and she cracked an eye to see Alistair peering down at her.

"I am unharmed," she sighed, holding a hand out, silently asking for help rising. Alistair complied, strong hands wrapping about her forearm and hauling upright. The force behind the movement had her being brought flush to his chest and she squeaked in surprise, hands resting upon his armored chest to steady herself.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded, eyes scanning her over as he searched for injury, "Wading into battle with nothing more than a short bow and a silk dress. You could have been killed!"

"So sorry I didn't take the time to properly attire myself, Alistair," she said with a roll of her eyes, "next time an elven uprising takes place and threatens the lives of my friends and family I shall endeavor to dress myself to your standards."

"I'd prefer you to stay out of it entirely!" he snapped back, "You had no place in this!"

"Why, because I am a woman and should be simpering in terror, leaving you to the manly and daring rescue?"

"Because you aren't properly trained!" he roared, "And if you had gotten hurt there wouldn't have been much left for me to rescue!" Elissa opened her mouth to offer her scathing opinion but was abruptly cut off as Alistair swept her into his arms, crushing her to his chest in a fierce embrace. "Don't do that again, Elissa. I'm supposed to be the foolishly reckless one."

"Perhaps you're rubbing off on me," she whispered, still too shocked by the sudden intimacy to do anything more. A moan of pain tore her from the moment and she pushed away, seeking out the victim. Her stomach rolled when her eyes landed upon her brother, blood trickling from his shoulder, his fingers fumbling to staunch the flow. "Fergus!"

"I'm alright, little sparrow," he rasped as she rushed to his side, "nothing of consequence was struck."

"Send for a healer!" she snapped at the nearest guard before returning her gaze to her brother, "Really Fergus, you must stop this 'almost dying' business. I know living in my shadow is difficult and you are desperate for attention, but really, there are far more constructive ways to go about it."

"Your concern is overwhelming, I think I may very well faint," he chuckled as Elissa helped ease him to the floor. "I suppose this means I won't be competing in your husband's tourney."

"Just as well, you're much to old," Elissa teased as she inspected the wound, "and embarrassment to the family, really."

"You're brother was quite amazing, Your Majesty," Ambrose interjected as he limped over to the pair, a litany of cuts marring his skin, "never even hesitated before he leapt into the fray."

"Thank you for guarding him as best you could," Elissa said with a watery voice, tears threatening to flow. She reached a hand out to her friend, and he grasped it tightly in reply, bringing it to his lips to lay a caring kiss upon her knuckles.

"Tell me how it began, Ambrose," Alistair interjected gruffly, his tone hard as he glanced at the display.

"Of course, Your Majesty," her friend said, instantly releasing her from his grip. "Lord Cousland and I were making our way to the arms emporium when we came upon an altercation between this elf and a city guard." All eyes turned to the accused, a boy of no more than sixteen years glaring at them sullenly. "When the boy drew steel, his friends followed suit and we sought to intervene."

"The bastard raped my sister!" the boy cried out, his voice filled with hate, "he deserves to hurt as much as she did!"

"Even if that's true," Alistair said gruffly, "it is not up to you to meet out punishment. You attacked not only the city guard, but put the life of my Queen in danger."

"Didn't ask the bitch to join in," the elf spat out, "she should have kept to the castle and minded her own business!" Beside her Ambrose growled angrily and began to stalk towards the boy, the threat of violence evident in his every motion. Elissa reached out a restrained his gently, shaking her head in a silent plea.

"That is the last time you get to call my wife a bitch," Alistair snarled before turning to gaze upon her once more. "That's my job," he mouthed silently and Elissa found herself slapping her hands over her mouth in an effort to contain the amused gasp that threatened to spill out of her. Such a thought should have enraged her, but the utter absurdity of it had her near dissolving into hysterics.

"Throw them in the dungeons," Alistair said, his voice slightly more relaxed as he returned his gaze to the culprits before him. "I hope you enjoyed your time a revolutionaries, pity it ended with you being locked behind bars."

"Mortain will avenge us!" the leader cried out as the group was led away, "You think you've stopped us? All you've done is make us stronger! Mortain will cut you all down like the worthless shems you are!"

"Andraste's ass I'm getting tired of that blighted elf," Alistair muttered as he watched the prisoners fade into the distance.

"Speak of a demon and he shall appear," Elissa muttered as she watched Shianni round the corner with the elven guard, Mortain held in restraint between them.

"Remind me again just how you're handling this situation," Alistair inquired sarcastically, "were bloody revolts in the market square part of your plan?"

"Shut it, Your Majesty," Elissa said through clenched teeth, "as much as I would love to lock that man up and throw away the key he himself has done nothing to warrant his detainment…yet. He's very good at playing least in sight and keeping his hands clean of the dirtier deeds."

Alistair grunted by said nothing in reply as the group f elves drew closer. Mortain had a serene smile painted on his face, as if he were not bound and being paraded before half the realm as a prisoner by his own people. Elissa narrowed her eyes, her anger starting to rise within her.

"What a pleasant surprise, Your Majesty," Mortain chirped as he drew near, eyes flashing in victory as he surveyed the chaos around him, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Elissa's trademark control had frayed under the stress of the last two weeks and she did not feel up to the verbal sparring match that the elf was seeking. Her temper snapped and she lashed out, back handing the man across the jaw. A satisfying crack echoed through the air, and Elissa cradled her stinging hand close to her chest.

"If you _ever_ seek to use children in your twisted games of treason I will personally plant your head on a pike. To the void with how much it helps your cause. I'll make you a martyr if I have to Mortain, do not mistake me. You keep the children _out_ of your war, do you hear me?" Elissa hissed dangerously. Mortain regarded her with amusement but she could see the rage simmering in his off-putting eyes.

"I am delighted to hear you name it for what it is, my dear lady," he said numbly, "but it is an old battle I undertake, one that has been raging for years. Perhaps you only recognize it as war because your side is finally losing."

"No more children, Mortain, mark my words," Elissa replied, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I do not choose who takes up my banner," he stated coldly, "but if elven children rise up against our oppressors I will cheer them on with my dying breath, our people deserve freedom."

"Which is more than I can say for you," Elissa muttered before turning to Shianni, "Place a guard on him. I want to know his every move. He doesn't so much as use the privy without my knowing it, do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Shianni said through clenched teeth before turning to lead the elves back to the Alienage. Elissa watched them go with dull eyes, certain that events were about the get far worse.

"Perhaps I am rubbing off on you," Alistair murmured, placing a comforting hand about her shoulders. "What happened to diplomacy and political double speak?"

"To the void with diplomacy," Elissa muttered as she unconsciously leaned into his embrace, "he deserved it."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, I've been gearing up for my first slam poetry competition and it's taken up a bit of my time. But as an apology I post two chapters tonight! First up the tourney, followed by…naughtiness. Tee hee…**

**As always, thanks again to KatDancer2 for being a lovely beta who "nit picks" (her words not mine). You are amazing. **

There was a resounding crash and wood splintered through the air as the two combatants met in a pulse pounding rush. One man was quickly unhorsed and Elissa clapped merrily as the crier called the match. It was the opening games of the tourney, and the stands were packed with spectators calling out wagers and good-natured jibes. Alistair sat by her side, his eyes bright with joy and naked envy as he took in the sport.

"People will talk you know," she said softly as the pages rushed to clear the field of debris.

"How is that?" Alistair asked distractedly.

"The way you're gazing at those men on horseback…I fear the nobility will think me your beard," Elissa replied wryly.

"I…what?" Alistair asked, finally deigning to give her his full attention.

"You seem awfully transfixed by those men's _lances_," she said pointedly, a grin spreading across her lips.

"How very droll you are, Elissa," Alistair said with a shake of his head. "If you must know I am _transfixed_ by the game itself, wishing to hell I was down there on the field."

"And why aren't you, husband?" she asked as the next pair of knights hefted lances into their arms, muscles bulging with the effort to lift the massive poles.

"Eamon," Alistair muttered, as he turned his attention once more to the games, "Jousting is far too dangerous a sport for a King to partake in. According to my chancellor, I could lose an eye."

"As if anyone would dare try to unhorse you," Elissa snorted as the horses set off, "they would all be too afraid you would cry foul. I doubt a single lance would so much as glance you. The tournament would be yours, my king."

"And where would the fun in that be?" Alistair countered, "You should be on my side in all this. I think you would quite like to see me take a few blows."

"If I cannot do it myself, I find it far less amusing," she teased. Alistair spared her a wry grin before a servant quietly climbed the stairs to the royal box and leaned down to murmur something in his ear. Alistair's face lit up with undisguised joy for the briefest of moments and he nodded before dismissing the man.

"Forgive me, but something has come up," he said hurriedly, rising to his feet.

"You're leaving?" she asked in astonishment, "but it is but the first competition! You'll miss the archery and swords!"

"Duty calls, you shall just have to watch closely and recount every detail," he replied before taking his leave without further explanation. Elissa watched him go, irritation and relief warring for supremacy inside her. On the one hand, she was all too aware how it appeared to be sitting next to the empty throne, her husband so painfully absent. On the other, it afforded her just the opportunity she needed to see her plan for the afternoon through.

Two matchups later, it was Ambrose's turn to joust and Elissa felt herself scoot to the edge of her seat, eager anticipation fair dancing within her. Both he and his competitor approached the stands, and Ambrose gave her a wink before lowering the mighty lance to rest before her.

"Your Majesty," he said regally, though his eyes betrayed his trademark wickedness, "as your husband has declined to compete, I beg the honor of wearing your favor this day."

"And you shall have it, good sir," Elissa said proudly, rising to tie the bit of lavender ribbon about the lances tip. She leaned far closer than strictly necessary, pitching her voice low so as not to be overheard. "Is everything in place?" she asked.

"Yes," her friend murmured, "you'll find everything you need in the alcove near the kitchens."

"Excellent," she whispered happily before straightening once more, a smile lit upon her features. "Wear it well, my friend, may it bring you luck."

Ambrose gave her a wink before wheeling his horse about and galloping to the end of the rail. Out of the corner of her eye, Elissa caught sight of Shianni tying a ribbon of her own around the other knight's lance, a scowl on her lips and a scarlet blush upon her cheeks. This was the third knight of the day to ask for her favors, and the elf grew more flustered with each occasion. Elissa's meddling had turned the woman into a vision, one the participants could barely tear their eyes from. Gone were the messy ponytails and the simple woolen dresses and in their place was a gown of delicate silk and her hair had been pulled into an alluring chignon that set off the graceful curve of her neck beautifully. Forget the bloodspot playing out before her, Shianni's transformation was the true challenge of the day, and Elissa had no qualms in claiming her victory. As she let out a laugh at the elf's discomfort she caught Eamon glaring daggers at someone just behind her. Following his line of vision, she turned to find Ambrose testing the weight of his lance, face unusually serious, her favor fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Elissa rounded back to meet the chancellor's steely gaze, matching it with her own fierce expression. It was a battle of wills and Elissa was going to be damned if she was the first to look away. She was getting rather tired of the old man's suspicions. Each day she endured thinly veiled "suggestions" that she distance herself from the guardsman, and each day she coldly reminded him that she was queen and as such could spend time with whomever she chose, chancellors and gossips be damned. Moments ticked by, neither bending, until at last someone called for the former Arl's attention and he was forced to tear himself from her ire.

A horn sounded and Elissa forced Eamon's meddling from her mind as the contestants kicked their horses into a gallop, lowering their lances with every bit of ground covered. Ambrose was magnificent and managed two strikes to the head before being claimed victor. Elissa clapped madly in support of her friend, whistling like a common bar wench when he raised his helm in triumph.

The rest of the competition continued on in much the same fashion, and as each minute ticked by Elissa could not help but wonder where her errant husband had run off to. When he had still not returned by the end of the joust, she briefly thought of seeking him out, but realized she had not the time to do so, not if she intended to see her plan through. Having spent the past two weeks sneaking out whenever she was able to prepare for this day, she refused to see all her hard work amount to nothing. As servants rushed to clear the field, dismantling the rail and setting up a wooden pen in its place, Elissa gracefully slipped away, disappearing into the crowd of spectators seeking to stretch their legs.

When the crier announced the beginning of the weapons tournament, the crowd could not help but notice the empty set of thrones within the stands, both monarchs conspicuously absent from the event.

~oOo~

Alistair shifted in the unfamiliar armor, trying to find a graceful and easy way in which to move. His helmet hung heavy on his brow, his breath echoing through the steel frame as he strode out into the sparring ring. His heart was pounding a mile a minute and the familiar adrenaline began to course through his veins. True, it was not a proper battle, each blade was tempered down to dullness so as to prevent unnecessary slaughter, but the opportunities afford him to actually engage in arms were few and far between. Eamon would have ten different kinds of fits if he knew the king was about to test his mettle against an unsuspecting opponent, but Alistair could not quite bring himself to care.

His opponent was announced, a name unfamiliar to his ears. The notion wasn't all that odd, however; with Anora's recent attempt on his life, quite a few members of the nobility had revealed themselves to be less than loyal, and the subsequent shuffling of titles had left Alistair's brain a confused mess as he struggled to remember the new list of banns and arls that had sworn fealty to him. Besides, he wasn't one to cast stones, having entered under a false name himself. The man bowed his head in a duelist's nod, features obscured by a simple helm and Alistair returned the gesture, hands gripping his long sword tight. A trumpet sounded and he leapt into action, eagerness evident in his every motion.

The fight was extraordinary, exhilarating, and everything Alistair had been craving for months. His opponent was green, moves rushed and hurried, but filled with a passion and determination he had to admire. He could have easily put the man in the dirt within the first minute, but he wanted this to last, and so he had held back, drawing out the match as long as he could. Through luck or divine intervention the man managed to land a few scoring hits upon him, even denting the borrowed armor with the force of one blow. Eventually, Alistair realized he had been going far too easy on the combatant, and the score was too close for his liking. Letting out a joyful roar, he pressed his attack, forcing the unknown knight on the defensive. Moments later his opponent lost their footing, falling to the ground with a painful thud. Alistair rode the momentum, dropping to straddle the man and bring his sword down hard against the battered chest piece. A muffled scream rose from behind his opponent helmet, and Alistair panicked, realizing he had struck with far greater force than he had intended. He immediately tossed his blade to the side and inspected the point of impact, noting with growing agitation that he had cracked the steel of the man's armor, edges curling in to press against flesh. Before he could fully gauge the seriousness of the injury he found himself being bucked off his opponent, rolling head first into the ground. Scrambling to get his wits about him, he was quickly over powered and the man he thought so gravely injured was now straddling _him_, sword hovering above the king's neck. Alistair laughed despite himself, fully admitting defeat as the crier called the match.

"That was quite sneaky of you," he muttered as the pair stiffly rose their feet. The man simply shrugged, turning to walk away, but Alistair snaked a hand out, fingers bidding him to remain. "You really should get that looked to," he said nodding to the cracked armor, "you may have won, but I'd bet that blow did a fair bit of damage."

"No!" came the man's panicked reply, fists rising to bat the king's hands away, "Leave it!"

"Removing it will offer some relief," Alistair argued, reaching to unclasp the chest piece.

"Damnit it all I said _leave it! _Infuriating man, are you incapable of listening?" Alistair stilled at the words, hands hovering over the armor as his brain struggled to make sense of what just what was happening.

"Elissa?" he ventured hesitantly, sure that he was mistaken. The knight next to him froze, chest rising and falling with labored pants, and remained deathly silent. It was all the answer he needed and he sighed wearily, hands rising to gently remove the helmet that hid his wife from view. Her rich, mahogany hair tumbled to her shoulders, strands plastered to her face with sweat. The fierce scowl on her face was a welcome sight, and he figured she could not be too badly hurt if she had the energy too look indignant about the situation.

"Care to explain, my queen?" he asked patiently, removing his own helmet. Gasps from the spectators filled the air, followed by immediate silence.

"What is there to explain?" she replied, voice indignant, "and before you get all huffy, may I remind you that I was not the only royal competing in secret."

"Yes but you were the only female to do so," Alistair growled, realization dawning on him, "This! This is why you wanted me to throw a tourney, so you could _sneak in and participate!_"

"You are so smart, Alistair, I can't seem to put anything past you," she hissed before turning on her heel and exiting the ring. Alistair fumed and stomped after her, catching a positively purple Eamon roughly making his way through the stands.

"This was beyond stupid, Elissa," Alistair snapped, "did your brush with death in the market teach you nothing? You could have been seriously hurt. You _were_ seriously hurt! By me!"

"Calm down," Elissa said through clenched teeth as the pair made their way to a secluded area framed by willow trees, "it's a paltry little bruise. And I could throw the same accusation at you, dear husband. If I have no place in these games, then neither do you!"

"I'm a trained warrior, you are a spoiled brat; do enlighten me as to how that qualifies you for blood sport," Alistair countered, rounding on her in anger.

"If that had been Harlow in that ring-" Elissa argued, her chin held high in defiance.

"Harlow wasn't in that ring," Alistair said fiercely, hands rising to cage her face, "and if she had been, she would have set me on my ass in less time than it takes for you to insult me. She is a fighter, born and bred, to her very soul. You do not have even the fraction of the talent with a blade that she has. But she wasn't the one who took a beating from me, you were. If you had wanted glory and fame you should have stuck to politics where you belong."

Elissa stared at him hard, eyes watering up against her will as she took in the vicious tirade he spewed at her. Never had he been so harsh with her, so blunt. Every insult up until now had been tempered with humor, but there was no trace of his sarcasm or wit to be found. He truly meant those words, and the knowledge cut at her, wounding her far deeper than she was willing to admit.

"My apologies, your majesty," she said numbly, shaking out of his grasp, "I shall leave you to your weapons and sport, and return to my throne…where I belong. I can see there is no place for me here."

"Elissa," he sighed, shamed at his behavior, "I didn't-Shit…that's not what I meant."

"I thought you would understand," she said, voice cracking, "you loved a warrior woman once, so it cannot be because I am female. Why then? Why could you not let me have this one thing, this one moment I could look back on and hold close to me?"

"I do understand, and I'm a right ass…really," he muttered, "It's just…Maker's breath, look at you. You're hurt, and it's my fault…I'm really quite tired of the women in my life taking a beating on my behalf."

Before Elissa could respond their privacy was interrupted by a contingent of guardsmen rushing past, their faces grim and set. Ambrose followed suit a moment later, his features a mask of pain and disbelief.

"Ambrose!" Elissa cried out, stepping forward to intercept her friend, "What is it?"

"On the steps," the man muttered, eyes wild, "A head…one of the elven guard. I don't…Torin…"

"Go," Elissa urged, pushing her friend away. Ambrose didn't even bother to acknowledge Alistair presence before he was once again off, tension and worry spurring him on. Once out of sight, Elissa spun about, reaching for Alistair's hand and tugging, "Come on, I have a feeling this will not bode well for our relations with the elves."

Alistair nodded, mouth grim, and the pair sprinted off, each dreading what they would find when they arrived at their destination. If Ambrose had spoke true, and there was indeed a decapitated head of an elven guard placed upon the castle steps, it would spell disaster for the tenuous peace the reigned between the two races. But who was to blame? Humans or the elves themselves? The answer was immediate and clear upon their arrival.

"I'm going to kill him," Alistair said through clenched teeth as he stared down at the note hammered to the poor bastard's skull. Elissa fought against the rising tide of bile that threatened to spill from her as she stared at the gruesome scene, forcing her eyes to read the hastily scratched out words upon the blood soaked parchment.

_Traitors to their race will not be tolerated. _

_He is a lesson, the next will be a promise._

"I'm serious," Alistair fumed, "I'm going to gut the bastard and hang him with his own entrails. There are not enough words to describe the torture-"

"Alistair, hush. There will be time enough once we apprehend him," Elissa soothed quietly, a hand rising to rest upon his shoulder. When he sagged in acceptance she sighed, turning away from her husband to begin the unwelcome task of delegation. "Ambrose, go to the-Ambrose?" Her faithful friend was nowhere in sight, conspicuously absent from the crowd that had gathered around the carnage. Elissa's heart pounded a deadly rhythm in her chest as she rounded back on the head, scrambling to tear the note from its flesh and drink in the features. She could think of only one reason her friend would not be present, and she prayed fiercely that she was wrong.

"It's not Torin," a sorrow filled voice murmured quietly from behind her, and Elissa spun about, gaze falling on a grieving Shianni, her fingers locked in a death grip on a plain canvas bag. "I came as soon as I heard."

"How did you hear?" Alistair asked, voice dreading the answer.

"We got a message of our own," Shianni sneered in answer, tossing the bag to the ground. "Cyrion brought that to me only moments ago. It was delivered to his doorstep." Elissa swallowed hard, every instinct inside her screaming to run away, but a morbid, twisted part of her had to know. She knelt on the stones, fingers shaking as she pulled the flaps on canvass open. Clamping her teeth hard on a scream that threatened to bubble from her throat she rose to her feet and met the elven woman's cold and grief-stricken gaze.

"I want him brought here. _Now_," Elissa demanded, unable to wipe the image of the bag's gruesome contents from her mind.

"Trust me, if we could find him, he'd be at your feet, broken and bloody," Shianni said, a feral look in her eyes. "But it seems he has disappeared, and not a single elf admit to knowing his whereabouts."

"What is in the bag, Elissa?" Alistair asked, kneeling to inspect the contents in an effort to satisfy his curiosity.

"Hands," she said softly, eyes still locked with Shianni's, "If they refuse to turn him in, while their kinsman lies dismembered on the palace steps, then they will all be treated as accomplices."

"Elissa-" Shianni growled in protest.

"No," she snapped, temper fraying, "I have attempted to play nice, I have loosened the stranglehold on your people and this is how I am repaid? Body parts left like bread crumbs across my city! I will not have it. If your people will not step up to the line, then by the maker I will draw it for them."

"Elissa, please think about what you're saying," Alistair pleaded, but the words seemed to have little sway on her.

"The elves have twenty four hours to produce the criminal known as Mortain. Should they fail to do so I will authorize a raid on the Alienage, and every elf found to be in connection with the bastard will be taken into custody and tried for treason," Elissa commanded, voice ringing clear and regal through the air. Shianni blinked at her, expression betraying nothing but stoic injustice, and Elissa met that stare with calculating indifference.

"I thought you were different," the elven Bann deigned to murmur at last, "but you are just like the rest of them. A spoiled, selfish shem who gives less than a shit for my people."

"And I thought you smarter than your knife ear companions," Elissa shot back, lashing out in anger. Shianni stumbled back, as if the words had physical weight and looked at the queen in astonishment. Elissa felt her eyes water, immediately regretting the words, but unable to find her voice to offer apologies. Shianni shook her head and turned to leave, back straight and proud as it always was, but Elissa swore she could see the lines of regret and hurt etched into every bone of her spine.

"Elissa…" Alistair breathed, disbelief and compassion echoing in every syllable.

"I have to see to Ambrose," she muttered, fair fleeing the scene, refusing to look back on the carnage, both physical and emotional. Her steps slowed as she sought out the barracks, sure that her friend had gone there to seek out his lover. As she rounded a corner she almost collided with Eamon, her vision so blurred by tears that it took her a moment to recognize the man.

"Your Majesty," he said stiffly, scorn evident in his tone. Elissa opened her mouth to relay the dire news of what had just befallen the castle when she noticed a lavender ribbon clutched tightly in the Arl's hand, the very same bit of fabric that had graced Ambrose's lance only hours before.

"Why do you have that?" she demanded quietly.

"I believe that is a discussion best left for His Majesty and myself, my lady," Eamon said smugly, "Did you truly think your little dalliance would have no repercussions?"

"At it again, Eamon?" Elissa said with a weary chuckle, "Divorce is such an odd hobby for a man to have."

"I only have Alistair's best interests at heart," Eamon snapped primly.

"You are such an insufferable prick," she hissed, words far less refined than usual due to her emotional upheaval, "Fine then, go…run and tell the king of my 'betrayal,' but if you think that man is going to give a flying fuck about a piece of ribbon then you are sorely mistaken. My sexual exploits, in no way, compare to a bloody head deposited on our very doorstep."

She pushed past him, not even giving him a chance to respond, her heart breaking with every step. Idly she wondered how a day so filled with promise could end in such dismal ruin. Not only had she broken her friendship with Shianni irreparably, her fragile relationship with Alistair, one she could have sworn was climbing slowly towards something more than tolerance, was crumbling before her. And now, with that oily bastard Eamon whispering poisoned lies of infidelity in his ear, she had a feeling that come that evening, it would lay in nothing but tatters at her feet.

Wallowing in self pity and despair she approached the barracks, seeking solace in the one person left to her in this cursed place she could claim a friendship of. Her heart leapt at the sight of Ambrose and she hurried towards him, but was brought up short when she saw he was not alone. A lithe, and very handsome elf clad in chainmail gazed up at her friend with such love and possession that Elissa could not help but assume it to be the elusive Torin. She watched as the two conversed in hushed tones, hands rising to unconsciously seek the other out, as if the couple drew strength from the very act of touch. When Ambrose raised a finger to trace the delicate line of Torin's ear, eliciting a shudder of pleasure from the elf, Elissa turned away, shame coloring her cheeks. The naked longing and tenderness in that one action had hit her like a fist to the gut. Never did she think Ambrose to care so deeply for the man, thinking it was a torrid affair and nothing more; but what she saw in that delicate gesture was the physical embodiment of adoration and it almost had hurt to look on such a private moment. So she had turned and fled, tears welling up anew, though she could not have said why.

Later, when she was dressing for dinner, she replayed the scene in her mind. The image of those fingers so gentle and loving ghosting over the elf's ear caused something low in her belly to clench in longing and desire. It was only then that she realized why she had fled from the pair, tears stinging her eyes…she wanted that. Not with Ambrose…but with _someone_, and stuck as she was in an ever confusing and volatile marriage, she wasn't sure she'd ever get such a thing.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: ah naughty-ness. After much debate I have decided to post the "light" version of this chapter here, and the full on smutty goodness as a separate story. I know not everyone digs the "porny" aspects of fan fic, and I really didn't want to change the rating to M, thereby risking turning some of my readers off to the story. But for those of you who like the smutty goodness, you can find the full chapter as a separate fic. Just look under my profile and you'll find it titled "Heavy are the Hearts: the smut chapter."**

Elissa hesitantly opened the door to the royal bedroom, forcing her spine straight and wearing a cloak of confidence she clearly did not feel. Dinner had been sheer torture that night. Wanting to keep the news of the elven guard's demise under wraps for as long as possible, she had insisted on the celebration dinner to honor the champions of the tourney continue on as planned. Of all the times in which Elissa had found herself having to fake emotions, none was so trying as that feast. Thoughts of Shianni, Ambrose, Alistair and decapitated heads bombarded her throughout the evening, and she found her brilliant smile strain at the corner of her mouth as she sought to play the part of Queen. The nobility had no idea what transpired, and took full advantage of her hospitality, drinking and laughing long into the night. The sound of such gaiety seemed taunting and cruel when Elissa thought on the dismembered elf. She had not even bothered to ask his name, and the idea of such callousness shamed her to her soul.

Alistair had been absent during the festivities, and Elissa found herself making excuses for her husband, all the while wondering if she could lay the blame for his absence at the feet of Eamon, the scheming snake. And so she had come to their bedroom as soon as she was able, dreading what she would encounter when face to face with the man, but determined to see it through, even if it meant her ruin.

Alistair was seated in a chair, his back to her, eyes focused on a dying fire that lay smoldering in the hearth. Elissa calmly closed the door and cleared her throat, announcing her presence, but he didn't so much as flinch at the noise.

"You weren't at dinner," she said softly, "are you well?"

"Why, Elissa?" he asked, clearly not wanting to engage in pretense.

"What's done is done, Alistair," she murmured, walking wearily to bed, her fingers wrapping around the bed post in an effort to steady herself.

"Do you realize what you have done?" he asked, voice gravely and harsh.

"I've acted like a queen," she said, her tone the very model of righteousness.

"Funny how that is your reasoning for everything these days," Alistair said bitterly, finally turning his head to look upon her.

"It is my reasoning because it is the truth," she said, embarrassed at the pleading tone in her voice, "A queen has a duty to her people, to see them whole and cared for. It is too great a burden and I am but one woman but it is _every day_, Alistair. And If I do not make the hard choices, if I do not push you to do the very same, then our people _die_, by the hundreds, and I will not let that stand so that someone's feelings can be spared."

"A duty to her people, but what of her friends?" Alistair countered softly, turning to gaze at his fisted hands, clutched tightly about something she could not see.

"I do not want to talk about Shianni," Elissa said harshly, her voice catching on the elven woman's name.

"If not Shianni, then let's discuss Ambrose," Alistair replied angrily, swiftly rising to his feet. "Is your duty to him greater than that of your people?"

"What are you talking about?" she snapped, feigning ignorance as she strode to her vanity, refusing to meet his gaze. "Ambrose has nothing to do with this."

"Yes, but he does have something to do with _this_," Alistair said patiently, loosening his fist to reveal a crumpled lavender ribbon. Elissa stared hard at the favor and felt herself grow pale. She knew she would have to face the consequences of goading Eamon into action, but she truly had not thought the man such a fool to press the issue when other, far more dire circumstances demanded the king's attention.

"I can't believe it," Elissa breathed with a shake of her head, "the bastard really sought you out to tattle on me."

"What is the meaning of this?" her husband prodded, refusing to be thrown off track by her comments.

"Ambrose sought my favor," Elissa answered simply, hands reaching up to loosen the many plaits that bound her hair, "And as you were not competing, nor anywhere to be found, I saw no harm in bestowing the token upon my dear friend."

"You are my wife," Alistair hissed, throwing the bit of fabric to the ground, "whether I am competing or not, your favors are mine."

"And as your wife I have been offering my favors for weeks now," she countered angrily, "the only favors that truly matter and you have run from them every time. Do not seek to punish me over a scrap of ribbon when you have not done so much as kiss me behind closed doors!"

"It is not just the blighted favor, Elissa," Alistair growled, "Eamon has watched you, had seen how you dote on that man."

"I warned you that Eamon would do this Alistair," she cried, rising to her feet, "I warned you that man had a habit of making royal marriages his personal hobby. Are you shocked that he has now done so?"

"_I_ have seen you, Elissa!" Alistair accused, "leaning far too close and sharing whispered conversations that leave you breathless."

"From laughter, you buffoon! And before you lay any more accusations at my feet allow me to point out that _Ambrose_ is far more likely to seduce you than he ever would me!"

Alistair stared at her in shock, all his righteous anger leaving him in a rush. Elissa would have found it funny had she not been so filled with indignation and the need to defend her honor.

"You mean…that is to say…he's…"

"Fey? Yes, which is why you have nothing to fear from that quarter at least," she replied softly, her tone hurt and defensive. "And had Eamon even once bothered to do his research into the subject he would have discovered the truth quite quickly. Ambrose is rather famous for his exploits. But that is not the way of our _dear_ chancellor, he is far more concerned with appearances than facts."

"He wants me to seek a divorce," Alistair said meekly, eyes downcast, "on ground of infidelity."

Elissa stared at him hard, silence stretching tight between them. She had known this was coming, even had prepared herself for the devastating blow, but she was laid low when presented with the reality of it. Something inside her broke, shifted, and she lost all sense of nobility and dignity. She would not back out graciously, slinking away to live out her life in shame and ignominy. She would dig in a fight, with claws and teeth, for her position, her life, and yes, even for this man standing before her. A man whom against all odds, she had come to care for in some small way. It was not love, of that she knew, but she found herself drawn to his sense of humor, his unexpected kindness, and she could not deny that something in her sparked hot and heavy when he railed at her with such impassioned speech, his eyes blazing and locked with hers. So no, she would not acquiesce to an old man's scheming. This is where she belonged. She was the _queen_.

"Infidelity?" she said, her voice harsh and grating, "I'll show you infidelity." Angrily she pulled at her gown, unlacing the stays with fumbling, shaking fingers. Alistair followed their progress with wide eyes, face blushing crimson.

"Elissa, you don't-"

"I will not stand by while my virtue is called into question," she cried as she pulled the garment from her body, leaving her in nothing but hose and a corset, "I have done nothing but try to be a wife to you in more than name, and by the Maker, I will not suffer fools who seek to wrest my crown because you will not take me as I have asked you to." She angrily strode to him, hands fisting the fabric of his doublet as she pushed him hard against the wall. Alistair gazed down at her, breath coming in labored pants as he drank her in. She was magnificent in her fury, and he could not deny that a part of him, the part that was undeniably male, roared its approval at her actions. He could not help but think back to the few moments of intimacy they had shared, each kiss and touch flashing through his mind until his skin fair hummed with the desire to trail his fingers along her honey skin. It had been too long since he had lost himself in the embrace of a woman, and he yearned to slake his lust, an emotion that had been growing with every night he slept beside his wife, in the beautiful woman standing before him.

"Elissa, don't do this," he murmured softly, unable to tear his eyes away from her heart shaped lips, his voice husky and low.

"Give me a reason not to," she said angrily, her dark eyes flashing, "Do it, Alistair, take me, and I'll show you proof of my fidelity! Spill my virgin blood and you will see that I have been a faithful wife!"

It was too much and he was helpless against her demands. When his lips met hers in a crushing and possessive kiss, Alistair lost all sense of reason and restraint. She was so close, her body pressing a line against his that set his skin ablaze. He moaned hungrily into her mouth, the sound swallowed as she parted her lips, allowing him access to deepen his embrace, tongues dueling for supremacy. His hands moved of their own accord, one fisting the cascade of hair at her nape, the other clutching her hip, urging her closer. When she pulled back to catch her breath, eyes half lidded, he growled at the loss of contact and tightened his grip, refusing to let another inch separate them.

"Would it not be better on a bed, Alistair?" Elissa panted, the familiar tartness to her voice goading him even further. In response he spun her about, pinning her to the wall and dipping his head to claim her mouth once again. She let out a gasp of surprise, one that soon turned to a gasp of pleasure as he thrust his pelvis into hers, marveling at how well her hips cradled him; a perfect fit. Alistair's hand caressed a burning trail over her skin, wanting to explore every inch of her exposed flesh, as if he would never get enough. Elissa's nail's pricked into his back as he trailed his fingers over her neck, her body arching into him, silently asking for more.

"Maker…you taste like every man's downfall," he whispered against her lips, breath hot and labored. She should have been angry at his words, furious, but lost as she was in that moment it did nothing but cause her to reclaim his mouth, kissing him with a renewed passion that lit the two of them with need. When at last Alistair claimed her, hoisting her in his arms to carry her to their bed, Elissa felt herself break apart with desire, surrendering herself completely to the man who lit her skin aflame.

It was miles away from gentle and everything the other needed. There was no love in their touch, only lust, primal and desperate. After, when the two collapsed, breathless and sated, neither were capable of forming speech. Had a group of eleven revolutionaries burst into the room, weapons drawn, neither would have been able to move let alone run from the attack, so completely sated were they. Minutes ticked by as they fought to regain control of their breathing. Elissa was first to come back to herself, shock, guilt, and heady satisfaction consuming her thoughts. When she had pictured this day it had been filled with determination and unpleasant acts, a duty she had to see through. Never did she think that she would be consumed with such an over whelming desire to be consumed and possessed. She had utterly abandoned herself to Alistair, and upon remembering the fight that had led to their consummation she felt shame over take her. This was a man who had accused her of infidelity, had spoken of divorce; yet with a few well placed caresses she had forgotten her anger, been driven by her base needs and surrendered to lust as if such hurtful words had never been spoken.

Feeling the sudden need to distance herself from the man beside her, she quickly rolled off the bed, hands reaching for her discarded gown. Clutching the fabric to her chest, wanting every inch of her exposed flesh hidden, she turned back to face her husband. He looked at her, eyes guarded and revealing nothing of what he was thinking. Unable to hide her own emotions, she flicked her gaze to the bed linens, eyes landing on a small smattering of crimson droplets that stained the crisp white.

"There is your 'infidelity,' my lord," she said softly, "I do hope you are not disappointed."

"Elissa-" he murmured, voice rich with a thousand emotions she was not prepared to deal with.

"Burn it," she said hastily, turning away, "or else the servants will talk. You cannot have taken my virtue twice, after all."

When he said nothing she walked steadily to the small bathing chamber attached to their rooms, never once looking back, afraid of what she would see in her husband's eyes. She closed the door softly behind her, heart clenching at the sound of Alistair sighing wearily from the bed, a sound so full of loss and satisfaction that it hurt to hear.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: A bit of a short one but…damn, who knew Alistair was such a sexy beast? **

**So sorry it took so long to get this up, poetry over took my brain. But it was worth it cause I freaking WRECKED SHOP at my slam on Sunday, won the whole damn thing! Sorry, had to get that out, I'm just really excited. **

**Thanks once more to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. I love your reviews, they keep me writing and I feel truly blessed to receive each and every one of them. So please! R&R!**

Elissa lingered in the bathing chamber far longer than necessary, hoping her husband would tire of waiting for her return and fall asleep. When she at last crept back into the bedroom, she was at once horrified and relieved to find him lying on his side, a hand cradling his head, eyes wide open and staring at her. A sheet covered him from the hips down, giving her a glimpse of the smooth and chiseled line of his stomach, ropes of muscles taunt and tempting. She blushed and turned away, quickly striding to her side of the bed, eyes refusing to glance once more upon his exposed flesh, certain that with every glimpse she would be flooded with images of their frantic and wholly explosive coupling.

When Elissa slipped beneath the sheets, silent and withdrawn, she heard the rustle of linen and felt Alistair turn to his other side to regard her.

"Elissa," he murmured, voice persistent and low.

"No, Alistair," she whispered in reply, unwilling to discuss the consummation of their marriage in the wicked dark of night; far better to do so in the harsh and unforgiving light of day when she could gather her proud and detached bearing about her once more. She was still recovering from the desire that had coursed through her veins, completely undoing her; an emotion that still lingered, making her aware of every part of her body. Praying that he would heed her words, she closed her eyes and longed for sleep. A second later she found herself pinned to the mattress, Alistair gripping her wrists above her head, his determined and handsome face looming over hers.

"Yes, Elissa," he said softly, voice filled with emotions she was not prepared to deal with.

"I can't," she whispered, "it's too much…what we did-"

"Do not say you regret it," he interrupted, grip tightening on her wrists, "please."

"Why?"

"That was a long time in coming, and even you know it," Alistair said fiercely, "Do not pretend otherwise. You cannot tell me that every argument, every harsh word, every single moment of almost-touch between us has not been leading up to what just happened."

"I can and I will; you're wrong," Elissa said, eyes flickering away from his.

"There was a time I would have let you have the lie, but no more."

"And you know me so well as that, to hear the deception in my voice?" Elissa snapped, "I stand by my statement."

"I do not need to know you to hear the falsehood in words," he said, voice gone low and throaty, "my name on your lips as you writhed beneath me is all the proof I need."

"Stop it," she whispered, though she could not keep the blush off her face.

"Things are different now, Elissa, I will have the truth."

"Get off me," she said, squirming beneath his weight, trying to ignore how every movement brushed her skin against his.

"We will talk about this," Alistair protested.

"Remove yourself and we will!" she cried in response, "I can't do this with you…_pressing_ into me"

Alistair growled in frustration but released her arms, sitting back on his haunches and watched her scramble backwards until her spine hit the head board, sheet clasped tight to her chest.

"Now," he said patiently, eyes pinning her, "tell me again…the truth this time."

"No…" she replied softly, "I do not regret it." Something in him loosened at her words and his muscles relaxed, letting go of a tension he hadn't been aware he carried. "Do you?" she ventured hesitantly.

"No," he sighed, eyes closed, "Though I do wish…."

Elissa waited for him to continue, heart hammering in her throat. A thousand different endings to that sentence danced through her head, running the gamut from ludicrous to outright hurtful. When seconds passed with no further words from him, Elissa took the plunge, steeling herself for the ensuing pain.

"You wish it was Harlow, instead of I, in your bed," she finished for him, voice gone soft with defeat. Alistair snapped his head up at her words, shock overtaking his features.

"No!" he protested, "I wish I had not spoke of divorce before we….why would you think of Harlow?"

"Because you love her," she replied, "and you do not love me. Why, in all your wishing, would you not want her to take my place in all this?"

"Is that…Maker, I have been a fool," Alistair muttered to himself. Elissa watched him, genuinely confused by his behavior. He sprang off the bed and paced about the room, hands running a nervous pattern through his disheveled hair. "All this time…the tourney, the training…even the friendship with Shianni…you've been trying to be more like Harlow."

Elissa gaped at him, stunned by his words. Protests rushed at her tongue, ready to tumble out and dispute the words, but something stayed her from speaking, wondering if he was perhaps right. Shaking her head she brushed the feeling away and set her shoulders.

"I have been doing no such thing," she said firmly, "I simply find it odd that we worship a goddess who made her name in battle but women aren't allowed to enter a simple tourney, that is all…and Shianni, I like her, truly, our friendship is…was built on mutual admiration."

Alistair looked at her, eyes gone soft, her words not even registering. He crawled back on to the bed, settling in front of her once more, and she felt herself tense at his close proximity.

"Never think that you have to be her, Elissa," he said, placing a hand upon her cheek, "you can't so don't even try." She felt the sting of his words straight to her soul, and she turned away to hide the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Alistair gently turned her face back to his, a saddened smile on his lips. "I don't want you to be her," he explained, "I will always love Harlow, Elissa, how can I not? But she has her own life to live, and I mine…our choices no longer include each other, and so I do not wish for a copy of her. I much prefer you be yourself: trying, opinionated, infuriating, proud, intelligent, and oh so lovely."

Elissa swallowed hard, his declaration far too much for her to take in and make sense of. Finding it difficult to anything more she simply nodded and rearranged the sheet that covered her, her hands nervously seeking out something to do.

"Well, then, that's…thank you," she said at last before awkwardly reclining on the bed, a silent request for sleep.

"We aren't done, Elissa," he said, tone still gentle but with the edge of a command laced around the edges. She sighed wearily and rose once more, fiercely wishing this wholly awkward and emotional conversation could end and she could find respite in the fade. Surely once the morning dawned she would have her wits about her once more and the two of them could slip back into their roles of squabbling tolerance?

"What is it, then?" she asked in irritation.

"I owe you an apology," he said, "I accused you of vile things, and only moments later took you to bed. Not exactly the gentlemanly thing to do."

"I do not want to talk about Eamon, Alistair," she said through clenched teeth, "I will deal with him in due time. Now if that is all, I would very much like to go to sleep."

All softness left his face at her words, replaced once more with that hard, determined passion that had over taken him earlier. Elissa flushed at the change, coughing lightly to hide her reaction.

"Stop it, Elissa," he warned, inching closer to her, muscles tense.

"Stop what, my king?" she asked innocently.

"Stop pretending as if tonight meant nothing to you," he cried, every word bridging the gap between them until he gripped the headboard behind her, arms caging her. "I know you felt something," he murmured, eyes slowly tracing a languid trail over her exposed skin, "The way you trembled at my touch, the things you said…do not pretend that I played you very well this night, my lady."

"Whatever you think I _felt_, Alistair, it wasn't love," she retorted, steel in her voice, though her labored breath betrayed her. He laughed darkly in response and the sound made something low in her abdomen clench in expectation.

"Hardly," he whispered, eyes returning once more to her face, "Were it so it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting. But you cannot deny that there is something between us, Elissa, and I'll be damned if you think I'll let you disappear back behind a wall of pampered indifference. I know where you live now, _my queen_, and believe me when I say that I intend on making myself at home."

Elissa's eyes widened, as he leaned in and placed a gentle, teasing kiss upon her lips, the act miles away from chaste. He pulled back and flashed her a wicked grin, eyes flashing with dark promises.

"Good night, Lady Theirin," he said softly before stretching out beside her and closing his eyes. Elissa watched him drift off into sleep, willing her heart to slow. When at last she managed to relax and let exhaustion claim her, she dreamt of hands on flesh, gliding sinfully, and her name whispered on Alistair's lips like a promise.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So I had a different version of this chapter all ready to go but upon a second go-through I realized I hated it so I completely scrapped it and went this route instead. Hence the delay.**

**Love to all my readers, and to KatDancer2 for the wonderful beta skills!**

Alistair tore through the hallways of the palace while the moon still hung bright in the midnight sky. Torches burned low and sputtered on the walls, casting shadows over the stone pathways that led him ever closer to the object of his anger…anger and gratitude. Had Eamon never sought to meddle in his marriage, he may never have finally succumbed to his desire for Elissa, and that alone was enough to have him wanting to shake the man's hand with a silly grin plastered upon his face. Elissa had been…there were no words. Never before had he experienced such an overwhelming sense of possession. When Eamon had presented him with the crumpled favor and whispered his poisoned lies, Alistair had felt the first stirrings of jealousy deep in his bones. When Elissa had erupted, shedding her clothes and pressing her body so close to his, it had consumed him and the only thought available to him had been one simple word: _mine._ Even with Harlow he had never been overwhelmed with the desire to claim and posses, the feeling was something only Elissa could elicit within him, which only made their relationship far more complicated. Because of this he had feigned sleep, knowing Elissa would not find her own relaxation until she was convinced of his obliviousness. When he was sure she had drifted off to the Fade he silently slipped out of the massive bed and gathered the discarded sheet, careful not to jostle his sleeping wife as he did so.

And now he was storming through the castle, that possession and jealousy still riding him, taking on a far sharper and deadlier edge now than it had with Elissa. Once the desire had fled his bones he was left with a kind of numbing horror as he thought back on their conversation they had prior to their passions. He had accused her of vile things, had spoken of divorce, and then without so much as an apology had taken her so thoroughly she had, miraculously, been at a loss for words for minutes after. Inwardly he shuddered. This was not who he was, who he had been raised to be, though if he was being honest with himself, a part of him had been hardening since that day outside Goldanna's house, when Harlow had railed at him to stop being the "prissy, naive little chantry boy and start being the ferocious, grown up warrior" she knew he could be.

Harlow. Her name stopped him in his tracks, though surprisingly not because of the pain her name once conjured. He was shocked to note that the mere thought of her only caused a twinge of regret in his chest, there and gone in a second. When had that happened? He realized it had been happening all along, ever since Elissa had first thrown herself into his arms and kissed him with those soft, pliable lips. A petulant part of him wanted to be angry at her for daring to remove Harlow from his heart, but a far more practical voice whispered in his mind that she had done no such thing. Harlow was still there, would always be there, her memory held close and safe until the Calling brought them together once more. But she no longer claimed all of his heart…the knowledge was heady and exhilarating.

And to think that Elissa-headstrong, infuriating, trying, and amazing Elissa-was trying to emulate his former lover? It stung him deep. What had he done to make her think she needed to do such a thing? Perhaps the better question was what had he done to counter such a notion. The answer? Nothing. The urge to run and hide in shame over took him and he had to swallow hard past his foolishness to continue his journey, intent on blaming _someone_ besides himself for Elissa's fragile sense of self.

He was torn from his thoughts when he at last came to a stop before his chancellor's bedroom door. His hands fisted the linen he carried in his arms, knuckles going white with strain and he let out a shaky breath, willing himself to some semblance of calm. Shoving the door open with a violent crash he strode into the room, eyes narrowing as Eamon shot straight up in bed, eyes seeking out his intruder.

"Alistair?" he asked blearily, "What is the meaning of this?" Alistair answered by throwing the balled up sheet at his almost-uncle. Eamon sputtered and batted at the fabric, hands seeking to untangle it from about his head.

"There's your infidelity, my lord," Alistair said through clenched teeth, parroting Elissa's earlier words.

"Do forgive me, Alistair, but this is a sheet," Eamon said patiently, smoothing the linen over his legs, "I do not know what one has to do with the other."

"It is the sheet on which I took my wife's virtue, Eamon," Alistair growled, "not more than two hours ago."

Eamon stilled at his words, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he took a closer look at the wrinkled fabric. When at last his gaze landed on the now dried, rust colored spots he raised an eyebrow in disbelief and fixed Alistair with a mocking stare.

"How can you have taken her virtue this night, when you performed the same feat more than a month prior?" Eamon asked dryly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Is this how you won Isolde?" Alistair inquired, his irritation growing with every word, "Feigning ignorance and acting coy? What are you, a woman?"

"I will not be spoken to in such a manner!" Eamon huffed, harshly tugging on a pair of breeches.

"I think I'll speak to you in any way I like," Alistair said smugly, folding his arms across his chest, "I _outrank_ you, Eamon."

"And do not forget who put you in such a position," Eamon snapped, holding his posture straight and proud.

"I don't think I ever will," Alistair seethed, "I gave her enough grief about it to last a lifetime and beyond."

"Her?"

"Harlow put me here, Eamon, not you. You think I truly would have ascended the throne for you alone?" he snorted. "You, who hid me away in stables and chantries until I was useful? No, it was she who handed me my crown. I was so damned in love with her that I would have done anything she asked of me, even if it broke both our hearts."

"You _were_ so in love with her?" the chancellor prodded.

"Don't go there, Eamon," Alistair warned, taking a step closer to the man, fists clenched tight.

"I believe I will. If our dear queen has tossed Harlow from your mind simply by spreading her legs I must question whether your thoughts are truly your own, or fogged by lust."

Alistair closed the distance in two steps, striking out without thought. His fist connected with the older man's jaw, snapping his head to the side.

"You will keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking of my wife, or by the Maker I will _end_ you," Alistair panted as he fought to keep a hold of his temper.

"Do you see what she has done to you?" Eamon pleaded, fingers rising to wipe a trickle of blood from his lips. "I raised you, my boy, and you strike me for pointing out what should be obvious. I know Elissa is very beautiful, but you cannot let a pretty face and steady stream of tumbles betwixt the sheets disarm you!"

"There has been no _steady stream_," Alistair insisted, ripping the evidence in question from the bed, "there has only been this!"

"And again, I ask how you could possibly have taken her virtue twice!"

"I didn't take it to begin with!" Alistair roared, "Damn you, tonight was the first time we…were intimate."

Eamon gaped at him, all self-righteous anger leaving in a rush. Alistair would have laughed at the sight of the old man at such a loss were it not for the rage that threatened to boil over.

"Why?" the chancellor eventually managed, clearly unable to wrap his brain around the information.

"That is none of your business," Alistair replied tightly, dropping the bit of linen to the ground, "all you should be concerning yourself with is the fact that, despite your _very _vocal accusations, Elissa was a maid until this night."

"Just because she never did the deed does not mean she was not free with her affections," the man protested, eyes gone sly and calculating, "that guardsman-"

"Has a lover," Alistair replied, "a _male_ one. Try again, Eamon. Why are you so damned intent on ruining Elissa in my eyes?"

"Because he cannot control me," a voice murmured from the open door way. Alistair spun around, heart in his throat, as his gaze landed on the woman in question. She was dressed in a simple cotton gown, long and flowing, perfect for sleeping. Her hair was still mussed from their passions, the strands curling wildly about her shoulders. Those so-dark-they-were-almost-black eyes of hers were red rimmed and bloodshot, a layer of sleep still filming them. All of it never touched her, and gazing upon her once more that possessiveness that had driven him earlier came roaring back, and Alistair once again thought, _ mine_. She strode into the room, her feet bare on the stone floor, and came to a stop before him, peering into his eyes with a steely sort of disapproval.

"I thought you were asleep," he murmured, unable to keep the wonder from his voice.

"I was, until a dream woke me, and I found you missing. I told you I had this well in hand, Alistair," she said softly, her tone brooking no refusal of her wishes.

"I took initiative," he retorted, a grin curling at his lips. He raised a hand to smooth her hair, the urge to touch her in some small way overwhelming.

"I do not need you protecting my virtue," Elissa snapped, eyes flashing, "I have been doing so since I sprouted breasts and the stable boys at Highever noticed." At her words his hand stilled and he let out a sigh. Clearly nothing had changed between them, at least for her. While he may be filled with possession and desire, she felt otherwise. Or so he thought, for she suddenly stepped close, her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear as she whispered, "Though, I do appreciate the sentiment." When she laid a gentle kiss upon his cheek he felt his disappointment evaporate and contentment take its place.

"In that case, my lady, do you have anything to add?" Alistair said with a clearing of his throat, eyes sweeping once more to gaze upon Eamon who was close to an apoplectic fit.

"Only that if you should ever seek to drag Ambrose into your games of palace intrigue you will find that it is _your_ position, not mine, that has become temporary," Elissa stated with icy precision.

"You can ply your wiles on Alistair all your want, Y_our Majesty_," Eamon spat, "but in the end he will see you for what you are."

Elissa grinned wickedly and rolled her head, as if to stretch, revealing the long line of her graceful neck and the midnight blue love bite that marred her skin, a token from Alistair given only hours before.

"Oh he sees me, Eamon, of that you can be sure. Keep that in mind the next time you seek to destroy my marriage."

"I only have Alistair's best interests at heart," he said softly, as if seeking sympathy for his plight.

"I doubt you hold anyone's interest's but your own," Elissa snorted before taking her leave, trailing a lingering hand down Alistair's arm as she did so. When the two men were left alone Alistair let his once beloved "uncle" bear the full weight of his gaze before slowly turning to follow his wife.

"Alistair," Eamon protested, voice pleading, "please, before you take an action, think on all I have done for you…_can_ do for you. You are still new to ruling and-"

Alistair silenced him with a glare thrown over his shoulder and reached for the door.

"I think you've taught me everything I need to know," Alistair said coldly, letting the door close gently behind him, the latch echoing loudly as if to emphasize his words.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Closing shifts at the salon are kicking my ass! Totally screwing up my writing schedule :-(**

Elissa bit delicately into a piece of pastry, hand cupped under her chin to catch the falling crumbs. It was morning in Denerim and the Queen of Ferelden was sitting in the all too quiet dining hall, eating her breakfast alone. She had awoken before Alistair and quietly went about her morning routine, silently slipping out of their chamber once dressed. Memories of the night before swirled around in her head; it seemed as if the events were enough to make up an entire week's worth of upheaval. Strange and unsettling to think everything had happened within the span of only hours.

"Good morning," a voice said quietly, but pleasantly from behind her and she stiffened as a pair of hands came to rest on her shoulders.

"Good morning, Alistair," she replied, voice calm and collected, though inside she was anything but. When he bent and placed a soft kiss upon her cheek before sliding into the chair at her side, she closed her eyes and fought the urge to lean against him.

Elissa had thought that come morning she would have rationalized her behavior and feelings away, chalking everything up to one night of high emotions and tension that finally broke free. But when she woke to find herself entwined with her husband, an arm slung over his bare chest, she knew that she had been a special sort of foolish to ever think such a thing. Alistair had been right, she _had_ felt something when he touched her, kissed her, gasped her name like it was a chant unto the Maker himself. Even now, looking at him from the corner of her eye she felt herself grow warm and flustered. It was as if she was thirteen years old and flirting with Eldrik the kitchen boy, unsure of how to act or what to say. It was not a pleasing feeling; for so long she had been confident and proud, so very sure of who she was. To think that Alistair had undone all of that with a few well placed caresses made her both alternately furious and excited.

"Oh, that looks good," Alistair noted, unaware of her thoughts, and made to snatch the morsel of food from her plate. Elissa sputtered as he leaned back in satisfaction, popping the pastry into his mouth and chewing slowly.

"You have the most appalling table manners," she managed, reaching to spoon a mound of fresh picked blackberries upon her plate.

"And who exactly am I trying to impress, Elissa?" he asked pleasantly, leaning in to steal once more. Elissa quickly stabbed her fork into the object of his desire and raised it to her mouth, eyebrow quirked in defiance. Alistair merely grinned before leaning in to bite the berry directly off the tines. Elissa laughed and shoved him away, pushing her plate to rest before him.

"You're sure?" he asked, even as he set into the food.

"Yes," she replied, "I've already quite thoroughly stuffed myself. I better understand your unusual appetite. Your kitchen staff is quite marvelous. If they keep this up, I don't think I'll be able to fit into a single one of my gowns."

"I fail to see the issue with that," Alistair said wickedly and Elissa blushed, eyes flicking away. "Though my fondness for food has less to do with the quality than with the fact that I'm a Grey Warden."

"Is a craving for cheese in the middle of the night a requirement for you recruits?" Elissa asked wryly.

"More like the one pleasant bonus of joining," Alistair retorted, words mumbled around a mouthful of food. "In addition to dying before your time and turning into a monster, you seem to never get full, though you get to keep your girlish figure."

Silence filled the space between them and Alistair realized his mistake all too late. He swallowed hard, eyes wary as he studied her. Elissa was smart enough to know that he had revealed a confidence that was never meant for her ears, and had it been anything else, she would have let it lie, but hearing her husband speak of his death as something imminent had her forming questions without thinking.

"Before your time?" she asked softly, folding her hands demurely in her lap.

"Leave it alone, Elissa," he warned, voice colored with shame.

"Monster?" she prodded, ignoring him.

"I can't," he offered, as if that simple phrase would deter her. Elissa snorted; he should know better by now.

"Can't or won't, Alistair?" she insisted. "You are no longer a member of the Grey Warden ranks. If you were I have a feeling your _commander_ would have plucked you from your royal fate, hauled you off to Amaranthine and you would even now being running drills in the mud."

"I may not be in service," Alistair explained slowly and heatedly, "but I took an oath all the same. Do not ask me to break it, Elissa."

"And you took an oath to me, your wife, before the Maker and half the realm," she countered, "an oath that binds us until death, which, according to your rather cryptic remarks, is something I can apparently expect to being arriving shortly?"

Alistair swore softly and pushed out of his chair, head bent low as he paced. Elissa watched as he muttered softly to himself, the words too low for her make out exactly what he saying. When he offered no explanation she sighed and gracefully rose to her feet, gliding quietly across the stone floor. Laying a gentle hand upon his arm she stilled him into obedience and he looked down at her with frustrated eyes, secrets hovering at the tip of his tongue.

"I am quite tired of the secrets that lie between us," she murmured, voice sympathetic yet no less commanding, "First Harlow, now this. Last night you said things were different now…if that is true then this cannot stand. Either I have begun to be your wife in more than name, or last night was a fever dream we shall never speak of again. Choose, Alistair."

"You think to hold that against me?" he accused, voice bitter yet breaking on the syllables in hope.

Elissa shook her head and smiled sadly, "I hold nothing against you, but we stand on a precipice, and you cannot expect me to teeter forever. You asked me if I felt something, Alistair…of course I did, how could I not? There is…something between us, and it has been there for quite some time now, though I do not know what to call it. But there is a power in naming things, in giving them voice…so please, before I am able to give whatever it is we have the power to break me, I ask that you choose."

Alistair stared down at her, wonder, heartache, betrayal, and fear dancing across his eyes in an odd sort of ballet. Elissa watched it all; face placid and patient as she waited for him to decide the fate of their marriage. She was not lying when she spoke; though she was unaware she had felt this way until now. She had to wonder, if it weren't for his slip of the tongue, would she have ever had reason to voice this ultimatum? Or would they have stumbled along as before, fumbling through their lives trying to figure out where the other stood?

"The crown has no authority over the Wardens, is that understood?" he murmured after a time, eyes relaying the seriousness of what he was about to reveal. Elissa nodded and Alistair let out a sigh, eyes rolling to the heavens. "Andraste's ass, I can't believe I'm about to do this. Here goes…becoming a Grey Warden allows us to sense the darkspawn, to track them and be alerted to their presence…it also saves those who have been tainted. But it isn't a cure all…it only delays the inevitable. Eventually the taint catches up, punishes you for cheating death for so long…and it, well…."

"Alistair?"

"The Wardens…they become…" He couldn't finish, though there was no need. Elissa's eyes filled with horror as she followed the path of his thoughts. She brought a hand to her mouth and shook her head, unwilling to believe. Alistair merely stared at her, mouth grim, mentally ticking away the years that had passed since his joining...subtracting them from the time he had left. It was something he had done every time the Calling had been discussed…some sort of masochistic drive pushing him to remember the dire fate that awaited him.

"When?" Elissa managed at last, her voice shaking.

"Thirty years, give or take, since you take the joining…so for me…" he closed his eyes, unwilling to say the number, as if finally giving it sound would make it real after all this time, "Twenty six years, if I'm lucky, and Maker knows luck was never my strong suit."

Elissa's mind scrambled to make sense of the dire information, the horror of it too great for her to fully comprehend. Alistair himself said nothing, having lived with the knowledge for over three years. It had become his constant companion, the devil he knew, and he gave his wife the time she needed to come to terms with this dark promise of things to come…and because he knew he was not done divulging secrets.

"Alistair," she supplied at last, nothing more, just his name breaking on her tongue. He shrugged and tried to smile, though it did little to brighten the situation. She shook her head and stepped close to him, eyes seeking his as if there were answers to be found in their depths. Ever so gently she cradled his face in her hands and kissed his brow, going up on tip toe to reach. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Alistair swallowed hard and pried her fingers from his flesh, gripping the soft skin in his calloused hands.

"Elissa, there's more," he said softly. "The Calling…I made a promise-"

The clearing of a throat had the pair jumping, heads swiveling to gaze upon the intruder. Eamon stood in the doorway, posture hunched and withdrawn, unsure of his welcome.

"What is he doing here?" Alistair asked with a deadly quiet.

"I invited him," Elissa said evenly. Her husband laughed, sure she was joking, but the amusement died in short order and he furrowed his brow at her.

"After everything he's done?"

"Of all his sins, of which there are many, indifference towards you has never made the list," Elissa said softly, "You cannot see it now, but trust me when I say were you to chuck him from the palace, you would come to hate yourself…it may take years, but the despair would come just the same."

"And you? You've never had warm fuzzy feelings towards the man, why should you even concern yourself?" Alistair asked, eyes narrowed, sure that she was scheming. "What do you have planned?"

"Nothing," she said, eyes flicking down to stare at her feet, "and I concern myself because…I care about you."

Elissa blushed furiously once the words escaped her mouth, feeling once more like a girl treading the waters of adulthood. Alistair gently cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face upwards to meet his. Expecting a tender look and gentle words, she was taken aback to find him grinning wildly.

"There now, was that so hard?" he asked patronizingly.

"Very nearly killed me," she snapped and Alistair laughed pulling her into a crushing hug.

"There's my surly wife, so glad to have you back. All this touchy feely nonsense had me worried."

"A bout of temporary insanity to be sure," she seethed, words muffled against his doublet. Alistair loosened his grip and brought his hands to cradle her face. Before she could even so much as glare he closed the distance and pressed a lingering kiss against her lips.

"I care for you too, Elissa," he murmured once they parted, eyes still mirthful, "Someone has to."

"That's it, out" she said pointing towards the doors. "Clearly I've married just the most boorish sort of man."

Alistair laughed and swooped in to peck her cheek before taking his leave. Elissa shook her head, a small smile painted on her lips. Once her husband's laughed faded from the room, she turned once more to gaze upon Eamon, who still stood in the doorway, eyes frosty and unsure.

"Will you sit, my lord?" she asked politely, gesturing to a vacant chair.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he replied stiffly before carefully sitting. Elissa followed suit and the two stared at one another over the plates of food, time ticking by.

"Forgive me, Elissa, but I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out your reasoning for this farce," the man said after a time, voice tight and controlled.

"And what farce is that, Eamon?" she asked calmly.

"Come now," he sneered, "let us skip the hunt and simply tree the prey. You seek to punish me for whatever imagined slight you perceive I have done you."

"I assure you, the _slight_ is far from imagined," she replied icily, eyes narrowed, "but very well…I shall skip the pretense and get to the point. Stop the scheming, Eamon. All of it. Keep your nose out of my marriage, and maybe, just maybe, I can soothe the King's temper and keep you in the crown's employ."

Eamon stared at her dumbfounded. Elissa reached for another piece of pastry and daintily nibbled the corner, acting for all the world as if the conversation she was engaged in was of very little consequence.

"Your Majesty-" Eamon started, clearly reading himself to interject his own infuriating brand of pompous reasoning, but Elissa cut him off with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you truly going to offer sputtering and objections when I so graciously gave you an out, my lord?"

"Do not act the innocent maid in all this, Elissa," Eamon protested, "Had you been in my position you may very well have come to the same conclusion."

"Had I been as meddlesome as you yes, I may very well have. Ambrose and I are very close, he is my dearest friend, but it does not diminish the fact that he is a veritable tramp, Eamon," she snapped, "and not exactly sneaky about it. And had you bothered to ask even _one_ member of the guard, or Maker forbid the castle staff, you would have very quickly been given a list of his most recent conquests…each and every one of them _male._ Very well, my lord, I shall not act the innocent maid if you in turn do not act the pious martyr."

"Very well," Eamon said primly, "I admit to an error in judgment. Is that all, Your Majesty?"

"No, it is not. The fact remains that while I would like nothing more than to see you slink out of the castle, tail between your legs like the dog you are, I know it would break something inside Alistair to lose you. So I feel the need to make a few points perfectly clear to you. Firstly, I am not foolish enough not to see what truly spurred your duplicitous action. You were expecting a malleable, tractable, simpering young girl so very, very pleased to be crowned queen that she would acquiesce to your wisdom. How very galling it must have been to have received me instead. I will not be a pretty adornment that drapes off Alistair's arm at parties and functions. I will be an asset to King and country, as I was raised to be, and my voice will be heard in court. Make no mistake, Eamon, I am not his consort, I am his Queen. Which is exactly what you wanted, otherwise Harlow would still be here and I would be in Highever."

"Understood, Y_our Majesty_," Eamon said, rising quickly, face white with anger.

"I do not believe I was finished," Elissa said, voice snapping with the command. "You aren't winning yourself any points, Eamon. _Sit Down._" Eamon grit his teeth and obeyed, hands splayed out over the table top. "Now, loath as I am to admit it, you have done many a good thing for Ferelden since you installed yourself in court. I am aware of how very badly Alistair was bumbling things on the heels of Harlow's absence. The liquor, the women…thank the Maker there are no bastards running around to complicate matters. Obviously my husband was not ruling effectively, and yet the country never stopped turning towards recovery, and I am fairly certain you are responsible for that. If you can see your way to putting your favorite hobby of sticking your nose where it does not belong behind you, I would gladly see you keep your position as chancellor."

"Your Majesty-" Eamon breathed, all ire gone from his posture, replaced with shock and awe.

"One more chance, Eamon, that is all I offer. Should you seek to harm myself, my marriage, or my friends with your vicious schemes ever again I will personally see you out on our ass in the stews of Denerim. To the Void with how badly it will hurt Alistair…I'm fairly sure I could kiss him better. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Your Majesty," the man replied, relief naked in his voice. Elissa nodded and motioned for him to rise. He did so shakily and bowed deeply before taking his leave. Elissa watched him go before reclining back in her chair, sighing heavily.

"Well that's one crisis averted," she muttered, "now if I could just figure out what to do about the psychopathic elf rampaging through my city, I would be able to finally get to the fun part of being queen."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: So so so sorry it took so long. My dad was visiting from out of town and as I rarely get to see him spent every free minute I had with him.**

**I have a feeling I may have to defend Elissa in this chapter *readies self for flying fruit.***

**Lastly, I've been thinking of posting some of my original work on FictionPress (the sister site to this archive.) Have any of my loyal, wonderful, talented and oh-so pretty readers used the site? If so what were your opinions on it? I ask mostly because I do plan on publishing a certain piece and I worry about plagiarism. I would use the site mostly for beta testing the work, seeing what works and what doesn't from a wide audience. Thoughts?**

Elissa swallowed hard as the servant announced her guest's arrival. At her side Alistair stood tall, a hand resting on her shoulder, reassuring her with his touch. Shianni swept into the room, her hair once more in a myriad of ponytails, a rough woolen dress clinging to her frame. Gone was every inch of the sumptuous silks and cosmetics Elissa had purchased for the elf. It was as if Shianni wanted her to remember exactly where the Bann to the Alienage came from.

"Your Majesties," she said stiffly, sweeping into a deep bow. Elissa closed her eyes and Alistair sighed heavily beside her.

"Get up, Shianni," Alistair murmured. The elven woman rose, hands clasped demurely in front of her, eyes cast at the stone floor: the exact and precise manner in which one addresses their monarch. "Oh for the love of-just stop it, already," the king snorted, eyes rolling heavenwards.

"Stop what, Your Majesty?" she murmured.

"You know exactly what I'm speaking of. In the three years I have known you, you have never bothered to observe royal protocol, and I can count on one hand the number of times you've _actually_ called me by my title. You're doing this to bring Elissa low, and that is simply…bitchy"

"Maybe I wouldn't have to be bitchy if _she_ hadn't brought me low in the first place!" Shianni snapped, hands dropping from place to rest on her hips, eyes flashing with their familiar fire. It was amazing how quickly the transformation from dour vassal to spunky spitfire took place, and Elissa fought hard against the smile that pulled at her lips, knowing it would be taken amiss considering the circumstances.

"I am truly sorry for that," Elissa said softly, drawing Shianni's gaze at last. "Please believe me; I am horrified that such a slander ever passed my lips. Never before have I used such vitriol, and I am sickened that I now have."

"I see, you were just waiting to use that witty gem of a slur against the woman you claimed to call 'friend,'" the elf spat back.

"I have no excuse for my behavior, and the fact that I once called you 'friend' and still do, despite whatever ill will you harbor me, pains me even more that you were the target of my rage," Elissa pleaded, eyes beseeching her to understand. "Shianni…I was so shaken by the evil Mortain laid at my doorstep I could barely think straight, and I spoke without thought, without pause, nay, without _sanity_."

"Such a pretty tale you spin, Elissa," Shianni muttered, "but it does not change the fact that 'knife ear' passed your lips. If you spoke it, you thought it, and that's all the proof I need to know where you stand."

"Then let us discuss where _you_ stand," Elissa said rising, her temper flaring hot, "I may have called you knife ear, but how many times have you branded me 'shem' and nary an apology has passed your lips?"

"Shem is a bastardization of a cultural word!" Shianni protested.

"Yes, and do tell me what Dalish tribe you hail from?" Elissa mocked, "Truth, Shianni, your race has turned that word into a slur against my people, and yet you think to sling mud at me for a slip of the tongue that I have apologized for twice over now, when you yourself are guilty of the same damn thing!"

"Ah, I see we have come to the part of the evening where you shovel the blame on your adversary. Oh, Andraste, how I have _missed_ your antics, Elissa!"

"Oh, that is absolutely it! I swear, Shianni-"

"Ladies!" Alistair boomed. Both women rounded on him, their glares fierce. He blanched a little at all that frustration focused on him, but stood his ground. "Maker, you two are scary."

"So astute for a shem," Shianni hissed and Elissa screeched like a tea kettle.

"There! There it is again!"

"Will both of you just _please_!" Alistair interjected once more. "This is getting us nowhere. Elissa, you cannot force Shianni to forgive you."

"Thank you!" the elven woman in question cried, hands thrown up in the air.

"And _you,_" the king said, thrusting a finger in Shianni's direction, "of all people, do _not_ get to hold the moral high ground. I've been called far worse than 'shem' by you and shrugged it off, but let's not pretend you are a highborn lady, Shianni. You, and half the kingdom to boot, know that decorum is a foreign concept to you. I am only amazed Elissa managed to bite her tongue for so long."

Both women muttered sulky arguments, arms folded across their chests as they turned their heads. Alistair shook his head and pulled his wife's chair out from behind the massive oak desk and motioned for her to sit. Elissa did so begrudgingly, sticking her tongue out as she did so.

"See now? Isn't uncomfortable silence so much better than screaming?" he asked cheerfully.

"Being a master of both disciplines, I'm sure you are an authority on such matters," Elissa grumbled.

"As you well know, I'm quite the authority on _screaming_, though probably not in the way you meant," He whispered wickedly and Elissa blushed furiously and swatted him away, an appalled sort of smile on her face. Shianni watched the exchange with calculating eyes, folding her arms over her chest.

"So that's the way of it now?" she asked, "my, but it has been a busy few hours for the royal couple."

"_That_ is none of your business, Shianni," Elissa stated coolly, "but since you speak of hours, let us talk of why I summoned you. You are aware the time frame I gave to elves to turn in Mortain is quickly closing."

"Yes. Am I here to ready my people to be dragged into the streets like criminals and slaughtered by the authority of the crown?"

"No, you are here to carry out an order from your regent," the queen replied simply.

"You are just the most entitled sort of stupid if you think I'm going to oversee the repression of those I have sworn to protect," Shianni said with a bitter laugh.

"Protecting them is exactly what I am ordering you to do," Elissa said wearily, as she leaned back into her chair. "Shianni, when I made that declaration I was reeling from the horror of Mortain's _message_. Something had to be done, something still _needs_ to be done, but upon further reflection I believe I may have been overly harsh in my orders."

It was true. In the moments when her thoughts had been free of Eamon, her marriage, and the sudden shift in her feelings for Alistair, she had dwelled on that harsh and line drawing declaration that had passed her lips. With each hour that ticked by, she felt sicker and sicker, knowing that she was about to alienate and punish the very people she had once sought to protect. In the end, as the hour drew closer, Elissa knew she could not see it through. She undertook this particular battle, and Maker willing she was going to emerge victorious, but she refused to be remembered as tyrant before being remembered as a queen.

"_May_ have been overly harsh?" Shianni parroted, "do you need a vocabulary lesson, Elissa? I believe the word you were searching for was 'completely and utterly no question about it.'"

"That's seven words, actually," Alistair piped in, clearing his throat.

"Shut. Up." Shianni said with icy precision. Alistair raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, eyebrows raised high.

"If we could _please_ remain on topic," Elissa sighed in exasperation. "As I was saying, I _may_ have been overly harsh, but the fact remains that I must respond to this outrage. For months now that blighted elf has been trying to goad the throne into striking out against his operation. We have been able to ignore him for the most part as his tactics were nothing more than annoyances that could be shrugged off or quickly dealt with. But it seems he has learned something of civil disobedience and has finally done something that illicit a reaction. Thus, I must oblige him, though I hope it will not incite further violence."

"And what is your brilliant plan, her very high and mightiest champion of the elven people?" Shianni asked bitterly.

"Stop it," Alistair warned, all trace of good will and familiar tolerance absent from his voice.

"Firstly," Elissa continued, ignoring the rising tempers in the room, "I am temporarily suspending the elven guard. They will remain in the palace walls under the watch of the guard captain, and spend their days training to hone their formidable skills. This, more than anything, is for their protection. I will not have Mortain and his zealots deposit another bloody head on my doorstep, not when I can protect those men with all the power at my disposal."

"Agreed," Shianni said reluctantly, as though the very word pained her. Elissa simply nodded before laying out the rest of her edict.

"Secondly, I am imposing a curfew on the Alienage. All inhabitants must be in doors by nine bells, and any gathering, public or otherwise, comprised of more than three elves will be considered suspect and the offenders put to questioning."

"Absolutely not!" the elven woman sputtered, taking a step forward in disbelief.

"Lastly, Mortain's wife, Sabine, is to be brought to the castle and held as a surety of Mortain's cooperation. Whilst she is here she will be treated gently and with respect. As soon as our revolutionary friend turns himself in, she will be released. "

Silence descended upon the room and Shianni stared at the queen with the weight of utter horror. Elissa held herself straight, though her hands trembled beneath the wooden desk, hidden from sight.

"You wouldn't dare to stoop so low," Shianni breathed after a time.

"Wouldn't I? You should recognize the gambit well enough, for your cousin gave me the idea. When Harlow fostered the nobility of Amaranthine's children as a surety against their parent's loyalty, it caused quite the stir amongst the other holdings. We in Highever quite admired her ruthlessness."

"You cold hearted bitch, don't you _ever_ compare yourself to my cousin. She is a thousand times the woman you will ever be."

"I thought that would be your response, so I offer you an alternative. Sabine may remain where she is, but in turn I expect Mortain's known accomplices brought before the court," Elissa countered softly.

"Done, fetch me some parchment and you will have the names," Shianni accepted quickly. Elissa gently shook her head and closed her eyes.

"No, Shianni. I cannot simply hand a list to my guard and have them round up the criminals. It would do nothing but enforce Mortain's dogma of the evil humans crushing the righteous elves. It must be _you_ that heads the arrests."

"You expect me to clap my own people in irons?" she demanded, slapping her hands down hard against the wooden desk.

"You are the Bann to the Alienage, Shianni. You are the voice, the figurehead, and the authority of your vassals. If they step outside the law it is your responsibility to see justice done. Did you think that you would merely reap the rewards of having been handed power? Did you think there was no dark side to that title? If so, I welcome you with a heavy heart to the reality of being named nobility. So rarely are we painted the heroes in the common man's eyes, unknowing as they are of what exactly it costs us to keep the world turning."

"I will never forgive you for this," Shianni murmured low, eyes closing in defeat. Elissa nodded, and reached a hand out in comfort to grasp her once friend.

"I know," she whispered, the syllables broken and painful, "you would not be the fiery, strong willed woman I admire so if you did. But none the less, it must be done."

Shianni briefly squeezed the Queen's hand, a tear sliding down her cheek, though whether it was shed for the friendship that lay dead between them or the imminent betrayal of her people was unknown. Between one heart beat and the next, Elissa felt the elven slip away, and the feeling of loss that accompanied that one movement was so great that it nearly felled her.

"You shall have your prisoners by morning," Shianni said stiffly before turning to regard Alistair, who stared at her with compassion laced eyes. "I hope you can rationalize this to yourself Alistair, because Maker help you when you try to explain it away to Harlow."

"I would hope, having spent her own time bent beneath the weight of a royal title, that she would understand our decision," he hedged softly. Shianni shook her head and turned her back on the royal couple. The guard's stationed at the door swept it open and the woman slipped away from sight, nearly kicking an elven maid who scrubbed the floors near the archway. Elissa sighed wearily and leaned back in her chair, hands rising to cover her face. Distantly she heard Alistair settle near her and she turned to regard him with tear stained eyes.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly and Elissa was undone, her tears flowing in a heartbreaking rush. Alistair gently pulled her into his embrace and muttered soothing words of nonsense as she mourned the friendship fractured beyond repair by the weight of her title. Never in her life had she hated her crown and royal blood more than in that moment.

~oOo~

Mortain glanced over the pile of missives written code, the letters dancing in the light of a flickering candle. The damp and moldy scent of the cellar pervaded his nose, bringing with it the sense memory of being crammed within similar confines in Tevinter. For too many nights he had slept on slime slicked stone, pressed against his fellow slaves. Moans had filled the air, men and women writhing in pain from the wounds, both physical and soul deep, they had suffered at the hands of the magister they served. The memory almost hurt to bear and Mortain closed his eyes against it, fixing his rage like a talisman to pray over until the anxiety and fear passed. Letting out a clam breath he once more focused on the pages before him.

A light tapping on the cellar door drew his attention and he grunted his approval, eyes still fixed on the coded missives. With nary a sound Simon slipped into the room, a slight elven woman trailing behind.

"And who do we have here?" Mortain asked lazily, never once raising his eyes.

"I'm Celeana," the woman muttered, bowing her head in respect, "I work in the castle as a scullery maid."

"One of our many sets of ears installed in the palace," Simon supplied in explanation.

"And? Have our ears heard anything of use?" Mortain inquired, finally deigned himself to regard the woman, hands steepled into points. Celeana cleared her throat and began her tale, each syllable bringing a wider and wider grin upon the revolutionaries face. When she had at last finished her tale she swept a curtsy, head bowed low. Mortain rose from his chair and walked around the desk to regard her, cupping her delicate chin in his hand. When she rose her face to meet his, eyes sparkling with belief and adoration, he ran his thumb gently across her jaw.

"Such a loyal and obedient woman, offering fealty to her lord," he muttered, gently bidding her to rise. As he caressed her cheek he tilted his head back, directing his next words to the bruised woman huddling in the corner. "Do you see, Sabine, what loyalty looks like?" His wife said nothing, but whimpered her assent. Mortain grinned and dismissed Celeana with a flick of his wrist. She spared him one more longing glance before taking her leave, leaving him and Simon to converse in private.

"This is a gift," he friend muttered happily and Mortain clapped him on the back.

"Indeed, and it is not even my name day. It appears we must move things farther a pace, yes?""

Simon grinned, a rare and disturbing show of emotion and grabbed the stack of papers from the desk.

"As my lord commands," the man supplied before slipping once more out of the cellar, leaving Mortain alone with his terrified wife and memories that drove him to his vision of a brave new world.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** **Being sick sucks. Beyond the telling of it. So do forgive me if this installment is off, or weird…I'm a bit loopy because of the fever and meds…**

**Also…more smut! Yay! Except, it's more sweet, moving the story along smut than the previous rendition. None the less, if you want to read the full chapter WITH the smut, head over to my profile and find the "Heavy are the Hearts: the sumt chapter" fic and read to your heart's content. Otherwise, enjoy this smut-free rendition. **

And so the tension in Denerim simmered through the remainder of autumn. Fear, anger, hatred, and ill thoughts spread across the city like a plague, blanketing the thatched roofs with an oppressive pall, leeching merriment from the every citizen within its walls.

True to her word, Shianni had led a squadron of armed guards into the Alienage and arrested six of Mortain's conspirators. The man himself, along with Simon and Sabine, were nowhere to be found, and those detained remained tight lipped when questioned about the trio's whereabouts. They were not the first prisoners of this make shift war between elves and humans, nor would they be the last. Over the course of the following weeks, more uprisings would be staged in the city and more and more elves would be brought to the castle's dungeon, charges of treason, assault, and murder read like a black prayer as they filed past the throne. Alistair and Elissa watched it all with dull eyes, their faces placid and calm, though inside Elissa could feel her guts twisting in shame and despair. Every day that passed with no word of Mortain, and more elves glaring at her with cold, unfeeling gazes, she felt as if she were slowly bleeding to death from a thousand tiny cuts. She was drowning, and despite her and Alistair's noble and frantic efforts to stem the tide of unrest, nothing seemed to pull them towards land.

Disbanding the elven guard had saved those men from being slaughtered at the hands of radicals, but housing them within the palace had Mortain's followers crying foul, accusing the crown of holding their citizens hostage to ensure obedience from the Alienage. Despite the outcry, Elissa refused to let them go, knowing that if she released them to their own devices, they would most assuredly meet their bloody end. No one was more grateful for her hard line stance on the matter than Ambrose. In between the moments of chaotic discord, Elissa had managed to find a few precious hours to spend with her dear friend and his elven lover. She had been surprised to find him reserved and thoughtful, quite the opposite of her charming and brash friend. Though as the minutes had ticked by, Torin had opened up and Elissa had caught quick glimpses of a quiet, yet thoroughly wicked, sense of humor. Throughout it all, Ambrose had gazed upon his lover with such adoration and wonder, Elissa could not help but feel secure in knowing that she had made the right choice. If nothing else, Elissa could give her friend the peace of mind that came with knowing his love was safe and protected. To the Void with accusations and lies thrown her way by crazed revolutionaries, if those remaining fourteen guardsmen lived to see another sunrise, she had done her job.

As her dungeons filled to capacity, the cells teeming with angry prisoners, Elissa felt a cold hand of unease settle over her, and for days she would find herself glancing over her shoulder, steeling herself for a blow that never seemed to come.

But come it would….

~oOo~

"I don't know how to feel about this, Alistair," Elissa sighed, hands resting lightly on the pommel of her saddle. Alistair brought his gelding to stop and turned to regard her with compassion filled eyes.

"I refuse to let you spend another afternoon pouring over reports and working yourself into exhaustion. You need this, Elissa," he said softly, but with a commanding edge. Earlier that morning Alistair had stolen her from her work, stuffed her into a woolen riding dress of deep emerald green, and thrown her atop a speckled grey mare. When she had sputtered her objections he had silenced her with a grin and finger wag, scolding her as if she were a child. Once she had ceased her theatrics he had pleasantly informed her that she would not be working that day, but instead would accompany him on a hunt in the royal wood. Elissa would have argued more forcibly if he had not, at that moment, gifted her with the most exquisite bow she had ever laid eyes on. It was carved from dragon bone, the ivory polished to a mirror shine. Creeping bands of scrollwork were etched along the surface, mapping out an intricate pattern that was too complex for her eyes to take in all at once. It was only when she spied her name; delicately worked into the widest part of the grip did she realize what the engraving betokened. It was a family tree of sorts, every inch of the magnificent weapon covered in the names of those who had come before her, written in the most flowery, detailed, script she had ever seen; each letter harkening the Cousland line back into generations long past. From the bottom recurve to the grip, Elissa could trace the history of her family with finger tips. Above her name was a two inch gap and then the beautiful lettering began anew, this time with Alistair's name and the long, distinguished Theirin line crawling to the top recurve.

"Alistair," she had breathed, wonder clear in her voice. Her husband had smiled and traced a finger gently over the blank space, waiting to be graced with a name.

"For our children," he supplied, "they complete it, and our two houses are one."

Elissa had swallowed hard, placing a hand unconsciously over her abdomen. Since the night of the tourney, they had not laid together as a couple, though it was not from lack of wanting. Despite his lewd banter and knowing looks, Alistair had remained a perfect gentleman behind closed doors, giving her easy, soft kisses that left her wanting more and warmed her blood. Each night he would pull her close, ask her questions about her life and hold her as they drifted off to sleep, and every morning she would wake to find herself still wrapped in her husband's embrace. She wasn't sure what kept the two of them from carnal relations, but she could sense something hidden behind Alistair's eyes, a secret that hovered on the edge of their blossoming marriage, and she suspected that whatever information she was agonizing over was the reason for their chaste interactions. Elissa cherished the burgeoning relationship, but her body ached for more. And with her courses having come and gone the previous week, the mention of children brought the idea of such couplings to the forefront of her mind.

And so the pair had ridden into the royal wood, a contingent of guards trailing behind. Alistair had been merry, sending his dogs into the underbrush to flush out game. Elissa had watched it all, letting fly a few arrows from her miraculous bow, bringing down a plump pheasant neatly; but it all felt hollow. She felt guilty and selfish to be enjoying the last days of autumn, in all her court finery, holding a bow that she couldn't even fathom a price for, while her citizens wasted away in dungeons and revolted openly in the streets.

"I am not exhausted," she said at length, replying to Alistair's accusation; though her voice was steady, the dark circles under her eyes gave away the lie in her words. Alistair raised an eyebrow in disbelief and snorted.

"Last night I came to fetch you for bed and found you asleep on your desk…drooling."

"I do not drool!" she gasped in outrage and wheeled her mount away from him. Alistair laughed and followed easily behind.

"Oh, but you do. And what's more, you snore," he teased, "who knew such a highborn lady could act so common?" Elissa turned in her saddle and flicked her reins at him. Alistair startled at the sting and grinned. "Oh is that how it's going to be?" He snapped his own reins back at her and she shied away, her mare dancing below her.

"You'll have to be faster than that, my king," she taunted, before setting her heals against her mount and setting off into the trees. Alistair laughed before giving chase, leaving the stunned guards behind to scramble after. The couple crashed through the thick cover of braches and leaves, cutting a path through the wood with breathless laughter. Elissa managed to stay ahead of her husband, a determined smile painted on her lips. Alistair was a far better horseman than she at first suspected, but she had been riding since before she could walk, and she navigated the treacherous ground with ease. Her mare shied when she approached a stream and she quickly brought the animal to halt, sliding from the saddle to land in the water with a cooling splash.

Skirts hiked up to her knees she daintily crossed the waterway and just as she reached the bank, she heard an answering splash from behind her. Alistair grinned at her as she lumbered his way through the stream and Elissa shrieked in mock surprise before darting into the tree line once more. For the next ten minutes Alistair gave chase, the two sneaking through the cover of leaves and trunks seeking to outwit one another. Just as Elissa was creeping silently past an ancient willow tree, a pair of hands darted out from beneath the curtain of the branches and pulled her beneath the canopy. She laughed breathlessly as Alistair pressed her to the trunk of the great tree, a grin of triumph painted upon his features. The pair struggled to slow their panting, but in the space of one breath and the next, a delicious sort of tension filled the air between them.

"Elissa..." Alistair breathed, hands flexing on her shoulders. She supplied no answer but ran her fingers up the silk of his doublet, eyes locked with his. Outside the privacy of the willow tree, birds chirped a warning of the coming guard, but neither noticed. Ever so slowly Elissa twined her hands into Alistair's perpetually messy hair and pulled him closer, chest going tight with every inch that disappeared. When at last their lips met, tentative and gentle, she felt a dam break inside her and she moaned softly. With that one noise, the tension exploded and the two grasped desperately at each other; mouths hungrily fused. Hands tore at fabric that caged flesh and Elissa gasped when Alistair popped the buttons from her ridding coat so as to snake a hand inside to grip at her waist.

"Alistair, please…" she whispered, arching into him, "I need you."

"Elissa, wait-" he ground out, the words mumbled between misses.

"No wait," she muttered, pulling his head to her neck.

"Please…I have to-before…you need to know…I made a promise-" he groaned against her skin, voice seeking control, though his hands continued to rove over her body.

"Your Majesty!" a voice called out and a guardsman stumbled into the canopy of the tree. Alistair whirled about and pressed Elissa against his back, shielding her disheveled state from view.

"You better have a damned good explanation for this," he growled.

"Begging your pardon," the guard said, eyes downcast, "but we just got word: the market is on fire."

Elissa stifled a gasp against her husband's back and she felt Alistair tense at the news.

"Fetch our horses, we'll leave at once," Alistair commanded before turning back to his wife. The guard bowed quickly and left the two of them alone once more. Neither said a word, but gazed at each other with a twisted sense of foreboding and desire. Eventually Elissa regained herself and began to fumble at her ruined buttons. Alistair helped her as much as he could, and between the two of them they managed to close the ruined panel enough to hide her corset from view. The sounds of hooves pawing the ground brought them out from the haven of the willow tree and the pair climbed into the saddle, mouths grim, as the rode out to witness the devastation.

~oOo~

It was worse than she thought. When she and Alistair had arrived at the city gates, an army of soldiers and guardsmen had instantly surrounded them, refusing them entrance until the flames had abated. The smell of ashes and burnt embers engulfed her senses and she could taste the acrid scent of burning flesh on the back of her tongue. Hours passed as the flames licked at the sky, painting the horizon a vicious red. It was only when the sun had set, had the catastrophe been contained and the royal pair deemed safe to enter Denerim once more.

As soon as they were safely behind palace walls, Eamon met them with the grim report. A group of drunken, angry, sailors had entered the Alienage and expressed their displeasure with recent events by vandalizing a number of homes, smearing feces and mud across doorways, leaving stinking slurs blazoned on the roofs in tar and muck. A group of Mortain's followers had struck back, stalking the soldier's responsible into the Gnawed Noble Tavern and demanding they pay for their crime in blood. The soldiers were only too happy to oblige, and so the fight began. Whether it was intentional, or sheer dumb luck, an elf had stumbled into the fire place and kicked a burning log free. Within minutes the place was engulfed in flames, and the rest of the market followed suit soon after.

Elissa listened to the death and injury tolls being read and felt herself grow sick. Over fifty dead, hundreds more injured, and twenty five not expected to survive the night. It was too much and Elissa fled the throne room, racing towards the stables. She had to see, to know for certain whether the numbers were right. It felt too large, too great, and she was sure that once she walked the width and breadth of the market square that she would find a different story. Alistair called after her, but she paid him no heed.

When at last she reached the stables she snapped for the guards stationed nearby to attended her and leapt into the saddle of the nearest readied horse. Not bothering to see if her commanded was followed she set her heels into the horse's flanks and sped towards the castle gates, the scent of smoke growing more oppressive with every foot.

Elissa was amazed by the sheer devastation of it. Burnt out husks of once sturdy structures crumbled into ash before her eyes. Moans of the injured washed through the streets and everywhere she turned she encountered piles of bloody, twisted bodies: victims of the fire and the madness between two races.

Having seen more than she needed, she silently turned her horse and headed home, a confused guard trailing behind her. On the slow journey back to the castle, she felt her heart break for those charred corpses that littered her streets. So many lives reduced to nothing but causalities in the power play between Mortain and the crown. It hurt her, deep down, in a place she did not know existed, and a part of her knew that nothing would ever be the same.

When she wearily made her way to the royal bed chamber, heart heavy and broken, she stared hard at the door for many moments. At last she pushed it open to reveal Alistair standing before the fireplace, a missive clutched in his hand.

"Alistair…" she intoned, voice empty of anything but sorrow. He jumped at her voice and dropped the missive to the ground. Idly, Elissa watched the paper flutter to a landing, but she found she could not bring herself to care overly much about what was written upon it.

"Elissa…Maker, I was worried about you. Don't ever go riding off like that again!" he whispered, crossing the distance and pulling her close. When he angled to pull away she caught his face in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. It not an act of passion, or desire…it was not an overture at all, in fact, but a request, a beseeching for him to comfort her in the most basic way possible that evening.

"Elissa…" he protested against her lips and she silenced him with a shake of her head.

"Please…it's too much, and I need to not be a Queen. Just for this evening, can I not bear the weight of a crown? Can I forget about Mortain and the death that is his namesake? Can I just be a woman this night, and you a man, and all the secrets and duties in the world melt away until it is nothing but _this_ and _us?_" she pleaded, voice breaking towards the end. Elissa could see the moment his resolved shattered and she sighed in gratitude as he swept her into his arms, muscles bunching beneath her weight.

Ever so gently he laid her atop the bed, feathering kisses across her face as he eased his weight atop her. Elissa responded with a fierce sort of need, a desire to wash the feel of death and ashes from her skin and replace them with the feel of his hands on her flesh, baptizing her anew with his touch.

It was different this time, gentler, softer, but just as dangerous for what it betokened. With a kind of reverence Alistair took her, wringing every last tear and drop of pain from her soul before bringing her a release so complete and cleansing she felt at last they quieted Elissa placed a trembling kiss upon Alistair's brow, hands shaking as she cradled his face.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he pulled her close in response. How long they lay there, wrapped in one another's embrace, it was not known, but neither dared move and break the fragile spell that had woven between them. They both knew that something had forever shifted between them, and neither were sure they could deal with the realities of what that meant…nor was either one eager to give it voice, each for their own reasons. This had been different than mere carnal relations…this had been shared, intimate..something sacred.

Alistair at last stirred, having to attend to human necessities. Elissa waited until her was behind the closed door of the bathing chamber before stiffly climbing from the bed and crossing to the armoire, intent on finding a dressing gown to chase away the night chill. Upon her return to the bed, she stepped upon something that crinkled under foot and she peered down at the stones, finding Alistair's disregarded missive upon the floor. Quietly she bent down to retrieve it and turned to place it upon her husband's desk. She stopped in her tracks when she spied a name that still sent shivers of inadequacy through her: Harlow.

Despite her better judgment, Elissa began to read, and felt the calm she achieved only minutes before evaporate.

_My dearest Bastard King,_

_ First, may I say, congratulations on your recent nuptials, my friend. I would have sent our tidings sooner, but, as always, complication arose. Such is life, yes?_

_ Alistair…are you aware that your life is once more in danger, _mi amigo_? Just last week I was approached by a band of elves, seeking mercenaries amongst their race to topple the Theirin throne. I must admit, the idea did appeal to me, though Harlow smack me for even entertaining such a thing. Instead she insisted I ride to your rescue once more. What is it you are doing, I wonder, that causes such frequent desire for your demise?_

_ You shall expect me in a week's time, my friend, if my timing of this letter is accurate. Fear not, Harlow will not be accompanying me. Even if she desired to, I would balk at such thing…the more time and distance between the two of you is all to the better in my eyes. Oh yes, she told me of your promise…your noble calling and the decades that separate your reunion. Fear not, Alistair, I only contemplated slitting your throat for a mere day before I came to terms with the arrangement. Having better understood what you Wardens sacrifice, it is something I can accept with grace. When weighed against the years I shall have with her, I can not begrudge you a few weeks. _

_ I shall see you soon, my friend. Until then…do try to stay alive._

_-Zevran A._

"Elissa?" Alistair voiced asked quietly, dragging her from her reverie. She snapped her head up and swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to the missive.

"What is this, Alistair?" she asked, voice impassive as the implications of what she just uncovered upended her world. Alistair said nothing but sighed, and Elissa knew in that moment that despite what she had come to believe, Harlow Tabris' presence still weighed heavily on her marriage and her heart.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Oh my god…SO much angst…**

Every existence is nothing more than a series of moments that add up to a life. Some are so small, so mediocre that they pass by without notice, seemingly inconsequential though vital to the larger scheme of things. Others you cannot help but recognize, so immediate and all encompassing that demand attention. These are the ones that stick with you, that live on the edges of your subconscious and shape who you become. Such a moment was unfolding in the royal bed chamber of Denerim, and both inhabitants could only stand by and watch as it reshaped their lives into Maker only knew what.

"I did try to explain," Alistair said at length, hand reaching to gently take the missive.

"I'm still waiting for the explanation to come," Elissa said softly, waving the paper in the air, "_this_ only teases at the edges of something that promises to be painful."

"Maybe we should sit down," Alistair coaxed, hand's still seeking out the letter.

"Don't treat me as some sort of unbalanced shrew, Alistair," Elissa cried, dancing away, "whatever it is, just speak the words. Do not soften the blow."

"You have to know…when I made that promise I had no idea…Elissa," Alistair sighed in frustration, "how was I to know what was to become of us?"

"And how am I to know the same damn thing when you keep talking in circles? You want to know what's to become of us? Then _answer the question!"_

"Bloody well fine," Alistair muttered, rubbing his hands over his face, "You remember what I told you about the calling? No one can outrun it, Elissa, not kings, not soldiers, not the sodding hero of Ferelden. It's going to come for Harlow as sure as it will come for me, and that is the cold hard reality of life."

"I know that," Elissa whispered.

"You've never seen a darkspawn, so maybe you can't grasp the horror that lies in wait," Alistair muttered darkly, shadows of nightmares flickering in his gaze, "but for the wardens? It is a blessing to die on the field, fresh air wafting over your corpse, because the alternative is far grimmer. You are surrounded by stone and time looses all meaning. You watch your skin turn black and splinter and with every passing day you start to look more like _them_ and less like _you_. And through it all, you hear the call, a driving, persistent, siren song luring you to a madness that can't be named. _That_ is what is waiting for myself, for Harlow, for every Warden that survives the joining."

Elissa said nothing, tears welling in her eyes. Alistair swore in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. So badly did he want to go to her and offer comfort and kisses, smoothing the worry from her brow with murmured sweet nothings. But it would have to wait, for he knew he had not revealed the most important part of this sordid tale.

"So yes," he said softly, "I made a promise. A promise only I could deliver. She begged me, Elissa, even as she handed my heart back to me, she begged me to see that horror through with her. At the time I would have offered her _anything_ just to ease her mind. You have to remember I _loved_ her, and I would have jumped at any chance to be with her, in whatever, small, twisted way. How was I to know what awaited me in you?"

"And now? Now that I am here, now that you know…would you still make the same promise?" Elissa asked quietly, voice trembling.

"You can't understand," Alistair replied gently, "you never will."

"A damning and resounding 'yes' if I've ever heard one," Elissa choked, turning from him to hide her tears.

"Elissa please," he pleaded, "yes, even now I would have agreed, but not because I love her, but because she is a sister in arms and I can't imagine leaving anyone to suffer that fate alone."

"You're right," she murmured as she began to walk to the door, "I don't understand."

"Elissa, don't go. I lov-"

"Don't!" she cried, whirling about in outrage, a hand raised to silence him, "Don't you _dare_say it. Not on the heels of this."

"But it's true," he protested softly, his heart laid bare and open in his eyes.

"Is it?" she whispered. "It was hard enough to know that our time was finite. That one day this hideous thing would come between us and I would be left to explain to a nation that their King had left never to return. You married me with nary a word of this horror to pass you lips, and expected a level of understanding and acceptance heretofore unheard of in me, and I complied. You asked me to hold this nightmare close and come to terms with how very different our lives will be because of it…and now you once again ask and expect understanding, thinking I will send you off with kiss upon your brow to meet your precious, heroic Harlow. How now am I supposed to believe that you love…" The word was too much and her voice deserted her, leaving her thoughts unfinished and half formed. She felt as if every part of her was breaking into nothing but useless bits of dust and soon she would have no defenses left to her. She needed to get away, to put distance between her and this man who had managed to worm his way into her heart, because every second she spent in his presence the urge to go to him and use whatever wiles available to her to wipe Harlow Tabris from his mind once and for all because more and more overpowering. But that course of action would be vile and underhanded, and by Andraste, at least one person in this marriage needed to hold on some semblance of right.

"I need…I need some time," she continued, "It's too much, Alistair…I thought she was gone, that it was finally just you and me in this marriage, but I can see now I was a fool to ever think such a thing. She will _always_ be here, biding her time until this great ballad of a love story reunites you in bloody glory. Where, then, is my place? Where do I fit in this tragedy, in this marriage, in _your_ life?"

"Don't say that," Alistair said fiercely, closing the distance between them in two quick steps, "Elissa you fit…Maker, you _more _than fit. A part of me was missing before you, a part I thought Harlow took with her when she left to be with that blighted assassin. But how could she take it with her when you had possession of it all along? Elissa, please…don't walk away from me, not like this. I don't think I could bear it."

Elissa stared at up him, eyes trailing over the lines that made up his achingly handsome face. Time slowed to a crawl as she drank in every feature, memorizing him in this moment when the feelings between them hovered on the precipice of something grand and all encompassing. A glance at his eyes, so soulful and honest had her remembering how infuriated she had been when first regarded under their weight. He had been so callous and withdrawn, so wrapped up in the memory of a life lived before this one that he had no room in his heart to be kind to a usurper of wife. Somewhere along the line that gaze had all changed, and he had surprised her with unerring kindness and devotion. Despite their best efforts the two of them had managed to find themselves hooked deeply into one another's hearts. The memory of that sullen, petulant man seemed so at odds with the husband who stood before her, his almost declaration of love an arrow straight to her heart. When had this happened? When had she come to see him not as punishment but a gift?

He was waiting for her reply, waiting for her to make the choice that would forever decide what would become of them. Despite the feeling of betrayal, Elissa knew that she could not simply walk away and return to their former positions of detachment and tolerance. Even if she found she could not bear this new development, she doubted her feelings for the man would simply evaporate into nothing. She would morn this man and what he had offered for quite some time. And so she swallowed hard and made her choice.

Ever so gently she raised up on tip toe and placed her fingertips against his jaw. Alistair stiffened beneath her touch, fearful of what would come next. Elissa ignored the gesture and softly, sweetly, and so achingly tender, brushed her lips against his, breath fanning out in a tremble. Alistair leaned into her, chasing the kiss with desperation, but Elissa retreated, refusing to allow this to be more than she could give at that moment.

Alistair watched her step softly back to the door, a thousand protests crowding his tongue. No words came to him as her fingers came to rest upon the door handle.

"Give me time, Alistair," she murmured, "it is the least of what you owe me, considering."

"And how much time will it take before you come back to me?" he inquired, barely breathing as he awaited the answer.

"As I said, our time is finite…let us hope it does not take me twenty six years to come to terms with this," came her wistful reply.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** **Okay, a bit of a long one, but I feel that this all needed to be put in one installment. AND, as a special treat to the awesome mandymc, one of my first and most loyal readers, I give you….ZEVRAN! Ah how we love the sexy elf. **

Elissa stared at the scraps of parchment laid before her and wanted to cry from sheer frustration. Upon every missive was a name, a date, and a crime, the most common among them being treason. She had forced herself to come below the castle, into the murky dark that was the dungeon, and begin the slow and tortuous process of assigning trial dates to her many prisoners. It would not have been her first choice of activities to while away the morning hours, but considering she was still out running her emotions, she figured she may as well do something productive with her time in the last place her husband would think to find her.

It had been a week since the royal couple had discussed the painful secret that lay between them, and Elissa was still no closer to finding a resolution to the matter. She missed Alistair fiercely, with an ache that would spread through her bones and carry her towards their bed chamber before she realized what she was doing. But despite the longing that seemed to burst from her, she would force herself to turn away from the door and return to her quiet contemplation. She could not shake the fact that Harlow Tabris would never leave their marriage, her presence growing larger and more oppressive with everyday that brought them closer to Alistair's calling. Elissa had tortured herself with questions over the past week, wondering if Alistair looked upon the future with excitement, knowing that he would once more be reunited with Harlow, free to finally love her in whatever way he wanted. Or did he look upon it with trepidation, considering how greatly their lives had changed in three short months? The question she kept circling back to was one that kept her tethered to the castle, to him…would Alistair feel despair and heartache to leave her behind? Elissa could not help but think, hope, that he would, that somehow she had managed to truly capture his heart. His almost declaration of love was a talisman that she held to as she tried to determine if she could live with a promise made long before her marriage.

Elissa shook her head and cleared her mind of such thoughts and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Sighing wearily she picked up a random scrap of parchment and peered at the words.

"I'm confused as to why you are the one to sort through all this," Ambrose chirped from his position in the corner. Elissa frowned as she began sorting the reports into piles.

"Because I am the Queen," she replied absently.

"And as the Queen you have an army of servants and stewards at your disposal to deal with such unpleasant business. Why not track down one of the help and you and I sneak out to the practice yard?"

"You talk of 'the help' as if you do not belong to their ranks," Elissa muttered wryly, throwing him an exasperated look over her shoulder. Ambrose laughed and pushed away from the wall.

"My dear queen, I am far too pretty to be considered 'help.' Now come," he whined, dropping to one knee beside the table, "let's leave this sordid business to someone better equipped to deal with it and go have some _fun_. You've been in such low spirits as of late."

"Do not trouble yourself with my state of spirits," she said dismissively, "and while I am aware that I could very easily pass this duty to someone else, I feel the need to oversee this disaster. These elves seek to overthrow _my_ crown due to a myriad of slights, both real and imagined, they believe my husband and myself have done them. I would be a cold and cruel ruler indeed if I did not at least hear their pleas with my own ears." Ambrose sighed and rose, clearly hoping for a different answer. Elissa smiled softly and leaned back in her chair. "Oh, just go will you. I clearly won't get any work done with you sulking about and pouting."

"And leave you in the dungeon with no guard?" Ambrose snorted, "yes, I'm sure you husband would be just absolutely thrilled at that decision."

"Alistair is in no position to be passing judgment on my decisions," Elissa said softly and went back to sorting papers.

"Do I detect a note of bitterness? Has the royal couple succumbed to their first bedroom brawl?" Ambrose teased.

"Oh, Ambrose, you are so incredibly naive," Elissa snapped, rounding on her friend, "You think my melancholy is due to the fact that my husband and I have argued for the first time in our marriage? At best this is the _fiftieth_ time such a thing has occurred. Think what you like, but Alistair and I have danced the steps of marital discord long before this particular instance."

Ambrose stood calmly before her tirade and waited for her to calm, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted to the side in contemplation.

"And yet I have never seen you so thrown…so despite the number of rows you two have participated in this one clearly matters," he said calmly, waiting for an explanation. Elissa turned away, shamed at having lashed out at her friend. "Out with it, Elissa," Ambrose demanded gently, "why does this fight matter now?"

Elissa took a shaky breath and debated how much to tell before turning back to face the guardsman and beginning the long, sordid tale of her marriage. Once she began, she could not stop the words, and the story tumbled from her mouth like a river overflowing. She did not realize how very badly it affected her to keep it all bottled up, unable to share her struggles and emotions with anyone other than the person so intimately tied up with those very same struggles. Ambrose listened to it all, offering no interruptions and letting her rage and despair. When at last she had exhausted herself, and she collapsed back into her chair, feeling hollow and wrung out, did he at last deign himself to offer an opinion.

"That is biggest load of nugshit I have ever heard," he said derisively and Elissa started at the words.

"Excuse me?" she sputtered.

"So he made a promise, and promise that speaks to his chivalry a devotion, two traits that are highly prized in a husband. I fail to see why that should anger you so."

"Because she is still here!" Elissa cried, "This woman that holds my husband's heart is still floating all around me, laughing, knowing that even when this untimely death parts us _she_ will still be with him!"

"And you, what? Wish it to be you? Do you truly wish to watch your husband journey into madness and decay and lay broken beneath the earth? Is that when you at last feel like you would have won?" Ambrose countered, pushing her to a realization.

"It's not about winning," she protested lamely.

"From everything you've ranted at me it sure as hell seems to be. You act as if this Harlow woman is hiding in the shadows, waiting for you to slip up so that she can steal your husband away. But she _is not here_, Elissa. She is on the other side of the country, with another man, and you are _here_, in this castle with Alistair," Ambrose prodded.

"But what happens twenty years from now? They may be separated for the time being but they will be reunited one day!"

"And do you wish to spend those twenty years running from the ghosts of lovers past, or do you wish to spend it as a wife in more than name?" Ambrose inquired, "You do care about the man in some, way, don't you?"

"I love him," Elissa confessed quietly, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Then stop acting as if you've already lost and start living for the man who clearly adores you right back," Ambrose replied gently, grasping her hands in his. Elissa gulped and let out a watery laugh, nodding her head rapidly.

"When did you become so wise in matters of the heart?" Elissa asked, trying to smile.

"Blame my paramour," he replied wryly, "Torin seems to have brought out the romantic in me. Who knew such a thing existed?"

Elissa and laughed and wrapped her arms around her friend, grateful for his presence and strength in that moment.

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice chirped from the doorway and the pair quickly turned to face the intruder. Elissa felt her heart constrict once more as her gaze landed on Shianni standing awkwardly in the threshold.

"No," she said quickly, pulling out a lace handkerchief from her corset and dabbing at her tear stained cheeks. "Please come in, Shianni."

"Are these the reports?" the elven Bann asked awkwardly. Elissa nodded and motioned for her to sit. Ambrose quietly slipped back to take up his position once more in the corner of the room and the two women quietly shuffled through papers as tension filled the space between them.

"How are you keeping?" Elissa asked once she could no longer bear the silence.

"Well enough," Shianni mumbled as she read over a particular missive. "Maker, how many are there?"

"Too many," came Elissa's grim reply as she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her hands over her face. Shianni grunted but said nothing further. Ambrose sighed from his post and pointedly cleared his throat. Elissa turned to him, an eyebrow quirked in question and Shianni hissed at him from between clenched teeth.

"This is the most appalling attempt at social interaction I have ever seen," the guard lamented, "Shianni? Don't you have something to say to Elissa?"

"Leave it alone, Ambrose," the elf warned and Elissa glanced curiously between the pair.

"You know how very persistent I can be, my dear, better to concede the battle now before it turns into a war," the man crooned in a sing song voice.

"I don't know how Torin puts up with you," Shianni grumbled, "he used to be such a sensible man."

"He puts up with me because I am debonair, amazing, and a thousand other magnificent things," Ambrose replied grandly, "and unless you speak up now, you know that you'll be on the receiving end of one of his 'sensible' tongue lashings."

"What is going on? Someone _please_ enlighten me," Elissa sighed in frustration. Shianni shot one more glare at the guardsman before looking down once more at the missives.

"It has been brought to my attention, that I owe you an apology," she muttered pragmatically, "I'm not very good at them, so it won't take long. You were right to send me to oversee the arrests in the Alienage. I am a member of the court now and it is my responsibility to keep my people in line. Apparently I haven't been doing a good job of that."

"That's putting it mildly," Ambrose muttered.

"Shut. Up," Shianni ground out before turning her attention once more to Elissa, "I was wrong to paint you as a tyrant. I can see now that you and Alistair were trying to keep a lid on this clusterfuck of a problem and my attitude was not helping…at all. So…I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Elissa said sincerely, reaching a hand out to grasp the elven woman about the wrist.

"I'm still mad at you for the 'knife ear' comment," Shianni said hurriedly and Elissa sighed.

"Of course you are, I would be surprised if you weren't. But I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me for such an insult, and we can at least try to be friends once more," Elissa said carefully.

"Well, I don't relish the idea of awkward encounters in the castle hallways lasting for eternity," Shianni mumbled, "given time I'm sure I can come up with _something_ you can do to make up for it."

"Oh joy," Elissa said wryly and felt her heart swell when she caught the barest glimpse of a smile curling at the edges of Shianni's mouth. The two said no more but continued on with their work until at last the last prison record had been sorted.

"What is to become of all of them?" Shianni asked once finished.

"I suspect most will be treated with leniency," Elissa said wearily, "having done nothing more than participate in uprises that annoyed and provoked tempers…but others…Shianni, I am sorry, others have outright committed treason and the crown cannot let that stand. I'm sorry to say a handful will more than likely be put to death."

The elven woman simply nodded, offering no argument or opinion, and Elissa marveled at this new side of the Bann. She had most certainly expected a blow up, a torrent of angry words and accusations, and Elissa had no idea how to respond to this quiet acceptance.

"I'm grateful for your help with this…if you are not opposed to it, I would like you to attend the trials. It would give you an opportunity to plead for clemency in those cases you feel strongly about," Elissa offered.

"I'll have to check my social calendar," Shianni said haughtily, "I've become quite popular since that horrible tourney you threw. I have lordlings sending me missives daily begging me to join them for hunts, or picnics, or other ridiculous things."

"I knew you would turn the court upside down if you tried just a little," Elissa said with a smile. Shianni shook her head with a faint grin and opened her mouth to respond but was cut short at the sound of a muffled cry coming from the other side of the door. The women looked at each other in curiosity before making a move towards the threshold.

"No!" Ambrose ordered, drawing his long sword from his back and stepping before them. "You two…stay back. Let me."

Elissa and Shianni complied and moved to the back of the room, a sense of dread settling over them. The queen gripped the Bann's hand in hers, certain that whatever was on the other side of that door most assuredly did not bode well for them. Ambrose crept slowly towards the threshold and quietly grasped the knob. Before he could even twist, the door crashed inward, throwing him against the wall and Elissa let out a shrill and terrified scream.

~oOo~

Alistair stared numbly at the increasingly bare branches of the royal garden and reached out to brush a few scattered petals from the once great clematis vine . As he watched the soft white flowers flutter to the cold ground, he was reminded of Elissa's wild hair, tangled with blossoms, as she curtsied low to him upon their first meeting. He remembered how he had been struck by her beauty, almost angry at how lovely she was, as if her appearance was an affront to the memory of Harlow. Her strength and force of will had been evident then too, etched into every bone of her body and tolling with every syllable of her voice. How he had despised her in that moment, and how me missed her in this one. Somehow, over the course of a season, he had found himself intoxicated with the woman, and her absence from his day to day life struck him deep. It had been a week since what he had come to call "the night of revelations" and Elissa still had yet to come to him in the dark of night, slip between the sheets of their great bed, and press her body to his. Every night he lay awake in the quiet of their room, willing himself to remain conscious for as long as possible so as not to miss her arrival, and every night, as dawn crept through his window, he found himself alone and yearning for the brush of mahogany hair against skin, and a tart and beguiling voice whispering his name like a homecoming.

It was not to say that he had been completely without her presence. Despite the turmoil in their marriage, matters of state and court still played out before their eyes, and the pair presented a united before the nation and nobility. Alistair had come to treasure these few moments of pretend and take as much liberties available to him. The members of court had come to expect a certain level of affection between the monarchs, mostly due to Elissa's actions during their brief engagement, and Alistair was only too willing to keep up the façade. The hour a day the couple held court was the only time in which he found he could adequately express his devotion to his wife, not in words, but actions. Every brush of his lips against her knuckles was an apology writ on her skin. Every twine of his fingers through hers was a pleading for her to come back to him. And every desperate, all too brief kiss was a thousand declarations of love whispered in her ear. Elissa would tense slightly during these displays, and such an action would have had him wallowing in despair, had it not been for the longing that would flash through her dark and fathomless eyes. Despite whatever misgivings she had about the calling, Alistair knew a part of her was missing him just as desperately as he was missing her.

"How long do you plan on twiddling your thumbs out here in the cold, my dearest bastard?" an amused and accented voice asked from over his shoulder. Alistair groaned and wearily turned to face the bearer.

"However long I damn well please, Zev," he groused, eyes taking in the smirking elf who leaned against an ivy wrapped pillar, arms crossed about his chest.

"Perhaps you will perish of the chill and save the uppity elves the bother of dispatching you themselves, yes?"

"Do you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk?" Alistair inquired with curiosity.

"How can I when my voice is such a treat to the senses?" Zevran replied with a smirk.

"I can see your time with Harlow has done nothing to reduce that massive annoyance you call a personality," Alistair said as he settled himself on a nearby bench.

"On the contrary, _mi amico_,our delightful Harlow has, in fact, encouraged my delightful antics," the assassin replied, though his voice was tight and controlled. Alistair raised a brow in confusion at the change in levity then chuckled sadly in realization.

"Relax, Zevran, I won't throttle you for mentioning her name, nor will I lapse into a weepy tantrum at the reminder that she is very much yours and no longer mine."

"I doubt our fair Harlow is anyone's, my friend, but I thank you for the assurance," Zevran said as he sat beside the king, patting him upon the shoulder. "I must admit, I am rather shocked at your reaction. Here I am ridden once more to your rescue, expecting your fist to greet my handsome face, only to find you mooning about outdoors. What could be the cause of such a thing, I wonder?"

"'Who' not 'what'," Alistair mumbled, staring at his hands.

"Ah yes, the new lady in your life. Where is your beautiful Queen? I have heard tales of her beauty and wish to see such a dazzling creature with my own eyes."

"If you even _think_ about plying your Antivan wiles on her you'll find yourself being shipped back to Harlow in pieces," Alistair growled, leaning menacingly toward the elf. The man simply laughed and shoved him away, raising the King's ire further.

"So good to see something's haven't changed, _mi amico_," Zevran chortled, "as jealous and possessive as ever. Fear not, I have no designs on your wife's virtue. Though I cannot help it if _she_ falls madly in love with me, my charms numerous as they are."

"I doubt she'll even get a chance to fall prey to your 'charms,'" Alistair sighed miserably, "things have become…strained between us, and I see very little of my lady wife these days."

"You mean our dearest templar has done something to incite the displeasure of a woman?" Zevran asked in mocked surprise, "my, but this shocking." When Alistair remained silent, not even so much as flinching at the Antivan's bait, Zevran's gaze softened and he gently nudged his companion's arm. "Come now, what has happened? I am unused to seeing you so laconic, yes?"

Alistair remained silent for quite some time, hands fisted as he contemplated his answer. For once the Antivan elf was mercifully silent, allowing his onetime comrade in arms to come to this answer on his own time.

"How did you react, Zev?" he asked at last, turning to face the other man. Zevran sighed and raised his face to the heavens, as if answers could be found in their heights. He did not ask for clarification, the pain in Alistair's eyes being all the explanation he needed.

"I'd be lying if I said I took it with a measure of grace," the elf said softly, "You ask me how I reacted? Badly, _mi amigo_, very badly. I swore and raged and accused Harlow of vile, hurtful things. I wished a thousand painful curses upon yourself, Alistair, and through it all, I felt a betrayal like nothing that had come before it."Alistair swallowed hard and said nothing, feeling once more like he would have to explain the devastation of the calling to one who would never grasp the horror of it. "How did your lady wife take the news?"

"Better than you it seems," the king snorted, "no bodily harm was threatened, though Elissa does have quite the way with words. She quite knows how to gut a man with a few well placed syllables. And now…now I find myself waiting for her to come back to me, to yell at me with that infuriating, seductive voice and kiss the very breath out of me."

"You love her," Zevran said quietly, a simple statement that held just a touch of wonder.

"And now I feel I have lost her," came Alistair's reply.

Silence filled the garden as the two men contemplated the future, both near and all too far. At length Alistair let out a weary breath and stood. Zevran watched him rise and swore softly in Antivan, causing the king to round on him in confusion.

"_Fanculo_," the Antivan breathed as he pushed to his feet, "you must not worry. Your wife will come around. If I could find it in my heart to bless this madness, then surely a woman who was raised to rule a kingdom can do the same, yes?"

"What made you? Bless or forgive or…whatever it was you did?"

"You forget, _mi amico_, I traversed that hell known as the deep roads by your and Harlow's side. I saw what Hespith, that strange little dwarven maid, became. I saw firsthand the surface of what awaits the woman I love, and knew deep down, no matter how much I wanted to see her breathe her last, that I would never understand what toll that madness would claim of her. But you…you, my bastard king, will know all too well what lies in wait for my dearest Harlow, and despite how very envious of you I am, there is no one I trust greater than you to keep her as far from despair as possible."

Alistair was stunned by Zevran's words, and took a step back, mouth agape. Such a declaration passing through the Antivan's lips was something he never in his life ever thought to hear. Throughout the years he had known the assassin the two had barely tolerated each other's existence, squabbling and poking fun at one another until tempers boiled over and Harlow had been forced to separate them. But now, standing in a barren garden, one man a king and the other tied to a woman they had both loved, Alistair could feel a bond of understanding and perhaps even friendship being spun between them.

"Believe me, Alistair," Zevran said ruefully, "the last thing I intended upon my triumphant return to Denerim was to find myself comforting you, yes? My purpose was to keep you breathing so as to ensure our dear Harlow would not box my ears for letting any harm befall you. I am as surprised as you to feel this affection…you understand I would like this to go away as soon as possible, yes?"

"Would it help if I insulted you?" Alistair sputtered uncertainly.

"Oh yes, please do!"

"You're an idiot."

"Is that the best you can do?" Zevran tsked, "Not the most original, but I suppose it shall suffice." Alistair chuckled and shook his head, feeling for a brief moment lighter than he had in days. Zevran grinned and motioned towards the garden's exit. "Come, let us leave this uncomfortable conversation and focus on why someone once again wants to kill you. You have quite a knack for such a thing, yes?"

"I'll take you to the dungeon," Alistair said, falling into step beside the assassin, "you can question the prisoners at length…but, please try to leave the torture to a minimum."

"Still so squeamish about such things," Zevran replied wistfully.

"If not for me, then for the women," Alistair pleaded, "Elissa and Shianni and are down there sifting through prison records as they try to figure out which group of elves to try for treason first. The last thing they need is to see your _unique_ brand of interrogation."

"From what Harlow has told me of her cousin, I doubt Shianni would so much as blush at my methods;" Zevran quipped with a grin, "the Tabris women are known for their strong stomachs."

"How did you even know what was happening here?" Alistair asked, trying to change the subject, "I thought this uprising was contained to Denerim's walls."

"Revolution is like a plague, my friend," Zevran replied shrewdly, "unless you can contain it, it shall spread and lay waste to a kingdom. Your 'friend' Mortain has cast his net wide, and is quietly collecting elven mercenaries with unique talents to his cause with the promise of riches and glory. Elves quite like myself…he stupidly believed that Harlow and her dashing Antivan would hold a grudge for how very badly you treated her whilst she resided in the city."

"How badly I treated her?" Alistair snorted, "clearly he never met Harlow… that woman can give as good as she gets."

"One of the many reason I love her; it brings an element of spice to things, yes?"

"Oh please, do not stop talking," Alistair groaned as they approached the entrance to palace. Zevran laughed wickedly as the pair ducked inside, the sound abruptly cut off as Alistair was grabbed from behind and a knife pressed to his throat.

"Your Majesty," an unfamiliar voice growled in his ear. Alistair stilled beneath his captor's hands, all too aware of the press of steel against his skin. His eyes flicked to Zevran who stood calmly across from him, eyes shrewd as he took in the situation. "I got lost trying to find a way to the royal chambers," the unknown assailant muttered, words directed at the assassin, "looks like I lucked out, and this royal shem saved me the trouble of abducting him from his rooms. Thanks for that."

"Thanks?" Zevran replied lazily, shrugging as if it were nothing. Alistair opened his mouth to rail at the Antivan, shocked that he would betray him, but immediately clamped his mouth closed when he saw a flash of silver glint Zevran's palm. "It was nothing."

"Now we just need to figure out how to get him past the blighted guard," the unknown villain muttered. "How did you slip by?"

"I have my ways," Zevran replied dismissively shuffling ever so slightly to the right.

"Now would be a good time to reveal them," Alistair's captor snapped, "we need to deliver him to Mortain and escape this Maker damned place."

"Why are you alone?" Zevran inquired dismissively.

"I slipped away when the others broke loose…they were too focused on slaughtering this one's guards, but I was focused on a better prize," the man said smugly, "while they paint the dungeon red with blood, I'll bring Mortain the greatest gift he could ever receive. If you help me smuggle him out, I may even share the credit."

"My dear boy," Zevran smiled lazily, his eyes void of emotion, "you are twenty different kinds of stupid for even thinking such at thing." The assailant didn't even have time to form a retort before he was silence by a throwing dagger to the eye, the blade leaving Zevran's palm in a blur. Alistair stumbled away and turned to face his now dead captor. It was an elf of no more than twenty years, skin pale and pockmarked with the scars of adolescence. Zevran came to stand beside the king and kicked the corpse gently. "I do not 'share' credit," Zevran groused. Alistair rolled his eyes and turned to face the assassin.

"Could we _please_ focus on the crisis at hand and not your fragile ego."

"If we must…clearly this lackwit was working for your enemy and thought I was in the same employ," Zevran said with a shrug as he knelt to insect the corpse.

"I wonder how he got inside the castle walls," Alistair mused, "with all that's been going on I've had to instruct my guard to treat any elf seeking entrance as suspicious and deadly."

"Quite easy to infiltrate the palace walls when one is brought inside bound by chains, yes?" Zevran said with a sigh as he lifted the dead elf's arm into the air. Alistair squinted as he took in the chafed ring of red that circled the wrist of the corpse and sighed wearily. "You silly man," Zevran said with a chuckle, "you let your enemy inside your home. Did you offer them tea while you were at it?"

"What else was I supposed to do with them?" Alistair snapped, "Give them a slap on the wrist and set them free? When someone commits treason you chuck them in the dungeon!"

"And just how many enemies have you put up in these cells, Alistair?" Zevran prodded, "you heard the man…the others 'broke free.' You played right into Mortain's hand, my friend…he has planned this little prison break all along."

Alistair opened his mouth to retort but froze in place as his blood turned to ice in his veins. Zevran looked at him curiously and let out a shout of alarm when the King barreled past him, feet carrying him deep into the castle. The Antivan scrambled to follow, cursing all the while. As the path Alistair took them on became bloodier and bloodier, Zevran realized exactly where they were headed and drew his daggers from their sheaths, eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings. Alistair said nothing, merely kept his course, heart pounding all the way.

When the pair burst into the dungeon, it was eerily quiet and Zevran could not help but notice the number of bodies that littered the slick floor. Ignoring it all, Alistair hurried to the small room that served as the guardsmen's quarters at the end of the blood soaked hall. Zevran stalked behind him, checking to make sure the dead were really dead and not laying in wait to strike. When the pair arrived at the small wooden door, Alistair pushed it open, praying fervently that he would find the person he so desperately sought. Instead his eyes lingered on the overturned furniture, the blood splattered on the walls, and the delicate lace handkerchief that lay discarded on the floor. Try as he might, Alistair could not change the scene and he felt his heart shatter into pieces as he realized just what had transpired. A wet cough drew his attention and he turned his head to find a bleeding and barely conscious Ambrose prostrate on the ground. Alistair hurried to his side and demanded answers.

"The elves…" the guardsman rasped, "they…took…her…both of them…"

Zevran swore in Antivan and raced back down the gore covered hallway, calling out to anyone who may be nearby to send for a healer. Alistair simply fell to his knees and stared numbly at the scene around him. As the minutes ticked by he felt that numbness be replaced with a crystalline sort of rage and fury and eventually rose to his feet and calmly strode out of the room.

"Where exactly do you think you are going, my friend?" Zevran demanded quietly and Alistair slowly turned to look down upon him.

"I'm going to get my wife back from that sadistic elf," the King said quietly and coldly.

Despite the frantic search set into motion only minutes later, Shianni Tabris, Bann of the Alienage, and Elissa Cousland, Queen of Ferelden, were nowhere to be found.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Okay folks…this is a dark one. I have to, right off the bat, say that there are two trigger warnings for this chapter (abuse and sexual assault.) While the abuse is no worse than what we have already seen from Mortain, and while there is no actual sexual assault, merely an attempt, I none the less must advise that if these are triggers for you, do not continue. **

**That being said, I still feel that what is written here is no worse than what is in the actual Dragon Age games. Also…character death…sorry…**

**Anywho…please, please, please stick with me after this. There are only two more chapters left after this, and I GARUNTEE that you will want to stick around for the next one. **

**Whew…love to all my readers. I plan on doing shoutouts in the last installment, so look for some lovin' coming your way soon!**

**Also, there is another A/N at the end of this installment as I explain and justify some things. **

An oppressive darkness surrounded Elissa, keeping her prisoner in a state of suspended time. Through it all Alistair's voice chased her, pricking at memories that still had the power to hurt and send her heart beating a staccato rhythm.

_You are a dismal failure at how to gain trust and affection._

"I can't get her to respond."

_I promise never to place you in chains of my making._

"Keep trying"

"_You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met…"_

"Your Majesty?"

"_The way you trembled at my touch, the things you said…do not pretend that I played you very well this night, my lady."_

"Please, you have to wake up"

"_How was I to know what awaited me in you?"_

"Move your ass, Elissa!"

"_Elissa, don't go. I lov-"_

"Alistair," she mumbled, willing her eyes to flutter open.

"He's not here," a grim voice said pointedly and Elissa turned her aching head to gaze upon the owner. A filthy and blood covered Shianni knelt by her side, eyes at once relieved and panicked. Frowning in confusion, Elissa pushed herself to sitting and took in her surroundings. The smell of mold and dust invaded her senses as she gazed at the large, dim space. Broken crates and decaying burlap bags sat tossed and forgotten in one corner, the only accoutrements in the room save ten rusted and wicked looking hooks that hung from the rafters.

"What sort of Maker-damned place is this?" she murmured, eyes refusing to budge from the sharp implements.

"Best I can tell, it used to be a butcher's cellar…now it's our prison," the elven woman said wearily. Elissa snapped her head at the words and gasped as everything came rushing back to her in a painful burst.

"Mortain…the elves…"she breathed as her eye lids flickered closed. Shianni merely nodded in defeat and Elissa groaned.

Flashes of memories battered her mind and she shuddered as each image flashed before her eyes in vivid detail: Ambrose being thrown across the room…hands grabbing at her arms as she fought against capture…Shianni screaming as they bound her wrists…blood…so much blood covering Ambrose as he tried to protect them in any possible way…her nails scoring a line down an assailant's cheek…and through it all, a distantly, almost familiar face grinning at her from the shadows.

"How?" Elissa managed, the one word the only sound she could manage as she came to terms with the new condition her life had taken on.

"It was one of us," a voice whispered quietly and regretfully from behind her. Elissa turned quickly, her vision swimming as she faced the unknown bearer. Once the streaks of black faded from her eyesight her brain was able to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Torin?" she breathed in disbelief. The man nodded and drew his legs up to his chest, arms hugging tightly to his knees. His ashen hair was caked with blood and filth, and bruises marred his milk-white skin, the swelling transforming his once delicate features into grossly deformed injuries. "How did you end up here?"

"Same as you," Torin muttered, jutting his chin to the far corner of the room, "same as all of us." It was then that Elissa finally saw her fellow prisoners: seven battered and bloodied elves huddled in the corner.

"The guard?" she whispered in confusion.

"They took us…straight from the barracks," Torin said despondently, "waited until the King's soldiers were occupied elsewhere and overran us."

"But…there are only eight of you," Elissa said after a quick calculation, "where is the other one? Oh, Maker…Mortain, he did it again, didn't he? He slaughtered another of his own kind to prove a sick and twisted point." When the elf said nothing but averted his gaze, Elissa blinked and cleared her throat, "Torin?"

"As I said, it was one of us," was the only answer he would give. "Is Ambrose…is he..do you know-" The hope in the man's eyes was enough to break Elissa's heart, and she thought back to the crimson droplets that had fallen from her friend's armor, splashing against the stone floor of the dungeon as he swung his sword with one hand, the other pressed tight to a wound in his abdomen.

"He-he took a blow," she said gently and Torin flinched as if he's been struck. "But the last I remember, he was still breathing, still fighting," she added hurriedly, unwilling to draw the man into despair when she knew so little of where everyone stood. Torin smiled faintly, trying to hold onto a shred of hope and light, and nodded. Elissa hesitantly turned back to Shianni and let her features fall into a mask of determination. "What does he mean 'it was one of us?'"

Shianni opened her mouth to reply but was silenced with the sound of creaking hinges. Both women tensed and spun to the door, postures posed to fight against whatever that ominous sound promised. When a slight and terrified elven woman slipped through the threshold, quietly closing the door behind her, Shianni relaxed slightly and Elissa struggled to remember the woman's name.

"Sabine," Shianni breathed in relief as the woman scurried to the pair. Elissa remained an alert, refusing to allow herself to feel any sort of calm in such dubious circumstances. She took in Sabine's appearance and felt her chest constrict in horror and ice white rage. Sickening smears of mottled purple stained her skin, the majority of which in were streaks in the shape of hands and fingers. Elissa unconsciously raised a hand to trace a fading ring of bruises around the woman's wrist and Sabine flinched away, her posture hunched and defeated. Elissa swallowed and placed her hands slowly on her lap, silently indicating that she meant no harm.

"We have to be quick," the frightened woman croaked, her throat working hard against a fresh round of abuse to her throat, the skin about her neck chaffed and swollen.

"Sabine, tell us what's going on," Shianni demanded, voice as gentle as she could make it.

"There isn't time," she said, "he's close, and I know what he had planned…please, you must listen and do not question. There is a way out, but you must hold on and survive just a little longer."

"And if there is, indeed, a miraculous way out why have you yet to take it yourself?" Elissa inquired, "Just look at you! See what he has done to you, how can you not want to escape Mortain? He is a monster."

"I'm not entirely sure he's sane," Sabine said with placid eyes, "he came back from slavery completely at odds with who he once was. He is covered in madness and rage. But this is not my husband, not the man I loved so fiercely that I lay down with the stinking, ale swilling men of your race to free. But that man, that kind, caring, loving man is still there, and I just know that one day he will come back to me and all this pain will be worth it."

Elissa stared open mouth at the woman in disbelief. Her words swam about in the Queen's mind in a teeming, nonsensical mess. After a few failed tries to hold on to decorum and gentleness she eventually snorted and shook her head. "_He's_ not sane? I could say the same of you my lady. The man you claim as a chivalrous figure out of legend is a _fairy tale_. No man who beats his wife is deserving of such devotion and you are a fool if you think he will turn into a white knight of legend and save you from all this."

"Elissa, stop," Shianni said softly but firmly, placing a hand upon Elissa's wrist. Elissa turned angrily to retort but stopped when she saw her friend gazing at the elven woman with pity and an understanding so deep it was beyond comprehension.

"Sabine, listen to me," Shianni murmured softly, "I understand your hesitation. I do…I never loved my villain, but Andraste knows I have felt fear so deep inside that it festers like dog shit in the streets. You just keep hoping it will end, that one day you will wake up from your bed and it will all have been a dream and the violation just a twisted part of your imagination. But it won't…it never ends until you _make it end_. It took a year for me to stop being a victim, to stand in triumph over the grave of that asshole of a rapist and spit on his memory. You can too…you don't have to cower in his shadow…it won't stop until you decides it stops. Please…"

"I love him," Sabine whispered and shook her head, eyes rolling with belief built on faith and fantasy. Sabine sighed in defeat but nodded. Elissa watched the exchange in fascination and shame. Alistair had hinted that Shianni had something horrible happen to her before the blight, but he had never expanded on the topic, and Elissa had refused to broach the subject, thinking it would be improper to speak of such a thing. Now, sitting in a dank and dirty unknown room, prisoner of a madman, she wished she had asked, had known just how strong this spitfire of an elven woman had been to come out the other side of such horror whole.

"Now listen," Sabine said once she controlled herself, "Mortain wants to toy with you, to hurt you and make you bleed, but he wants you _alive_."

"Why?" Elissa interrupted.

"Because you are not his prize," she replied softly, "your husband is. He managed to evade capture and Mortain plans to keep you breathing in hopes of an exchange. So whatever happens, whatever he asks, you must do. Only after he has finished with you will you have a chance. He is planning an ambush of your husband's men in twelve hours time, leaving this place sparsely guarded. That will be the time in which you must flee. I can ensure you meet little resistance, but you _must_ endure until then,"

"Why tell us this?" Shianni asked, "why when you clearly still love him."

"Because with each new crime it takes him further from me and I wish to make the journey back easier," she said simply.

"And with each instance of betrayal you incite my anger further," a cold voice intoned from the doorway and all three women sprang to their feet. Mortain and Simon stood in the threshold, a contingent of elves behind them, barring the way.

"Mortain," Sabine breathed, "please. I was just-"

"Showing yet again how disloyal of a wife you can be," her husband replied with a sneer, stepping calmly into the room. Sabine crossed to him, eyes pleading and mouth open to ready apologies. She was silenced with a palm to the face and went sprawling to the ground, sobs quietly wracking her body. "Simon," Mortain said with a sadistic calm, "please see to my wife. I'll deal with her later."

"Of course," the man replied smoothly, leaning down to roughly pull the crying woman to her feet and hauling her out the door.

"You are beyond madness," Elissa whispered and Mortain smiled coldly, his eyes sparkling.

"Of course you would see it that way, Elissa," he said lightly as he walked towards her, "being the pampered spoiled daughter of shem nobility you would have no comprehension of what I am trying to accomplish…such is the downfall of privilege."

"Trying to accomplish? You think you are visionary, a messiah to your people," Elissa hissed, "but all you are is a tyrant trying to seek bloody revenge against oppressors who are already dead."

"You think because the Hero of Ferelden slaughtered the men who sold me into bondage that my oppressors are dead?" Mortain laughed loudly, "my dear woman, they are but the first of such a line. Humans have been keeping my below pressed below their boot heels for centuries and I am here to see them freed from royally sanctioned slavery. Starting with the death of your dimwitted husband."

"And what happens then, Mortain?" Shianni demanded angrily, "what happens when you kill the king and incite the anger of every noble house in Ferelden? What happens when you bring a fucking war to our doorstep and all our people lie clapped in chains or dead in Maker damned streets?"

"I've had just about enough of your tirades, Shianni," Mortain growled capturing her jaw in his fingers and pushing harshly. To her credit Shianni didn't so much as squeak in pain, but bore it with steel and strength. Elissa growled a warning before barreling into the man and pushing him away from her friend. The elves that had accompanied Mortain rushed towards them, but he silenced them with a chuckle and raised hand.

"You will not touch her," she panted as she pushed Shianni behind her protectively.

"Fortunate indeed, as she is not the one I want to touch," he replied, still laughing. Turning to face his followers he waved his hands towards the forgotten elven guard and said, "String them up."

Elissa made a sound of protest but Shianni silenced her with a fierce jab to her ribs. They watched helplessly as the men were dragged to them feet and bound with rope to the butcher's hooks that hung from the rafters. The most heartbreaking to watch was Torin, who looked at them with sad eyes as his arms were wrenched above his head. Elissa could not help but think of Ambrose, wondering if he was alive, and if so would she have to explain how she watched his lover die before her eyes?

Once all the former guard were strung up Elissa could not help but count their numbers and once again puzzle over the missing member.

"I assume you have already murdered the other," she accused coldly, "tell me, Mortain, how can you be avenging your people when you take such delight in spilling their blood."

"I have done no such thing," he replied, "these are all traitors to our race. And before you start throwing accusations of murder at me, Elissa, perhaps you should use all those powers of royal observe that the Maker blessed you with."

Elissa furrowed her brow in confusion but glanced around, trying to puzzle out exactly what he was referring to. It took three sweeps of the room before gut twisting recognition struck her. One of the elves that stood near the strung up guard smirked at her an insolent sort of grin and a memory teased at her mind.

_A familiar face grinning at her from the shadows._

"You!" she gasped, pointing at the man, "you're the last guardsman!"

"Have I ever thanked you for giving me such a unique opportunity to launch my war?" Mortain inquired mockingly coming up to stand behind her. Elissa was too stunned by the revelation to notice and she continued to stare dumbfounded at the traitor who stood before her. "Such a simple thing, really," Mortain continued lazily, "to infiltrate your precious pet project of elven justice. After that it was merely a matter of waiting until your temper snapped the leash and you revealed yourself for the petty oppressor you truly are. After your stifling decrees it was all too easy to convince my men to rise up and get themselves locked away in your dungeons. They sacrificed comfort for the cause and all the while my spy was able to smuggle them weapons and lock picks, arming them for the moment in which the numbers were in our favor. Really, Elissa, this is all your doing and I couldn't have asked for a better ally."

"I am not your ally," she said shuddering in revulsion, "I am your queen and you will address me as such."

"Oh, I don't think you're in the best of places to be making demands, _Elissa_," he said maliciously as he ran a hand across her waist. Elissa gasped and spun away from him, backing into Shianni who protectively wrapped her arms about her shoulders.

"You're vile," she hissed, hands wiping at where he had touched her.

"Is it vile to seek retribution?" Mortain pondered, stalking towards her. "For two years I sweated and toiled while my wife spread her legs for the dredges of your race to buy my freedom. She debased herself and I can barely look upon her with anything but loathing and disgust. Do you think I like hurting her? She must be punished!"

"Of course you like it," Elissa spat back, "any other justification is a lie. You have _no power_, Mortain, nothing real, so you create it for yourself in your wife's enslavement!"

"She must be punished," Mortain replied harshly, "as must you, your whole race, and your doting bastard of a husband. He will come for you, of that I have no doubt…and I think a fitting punishment is to return you to his arms as used up and vile as my wife was to me."

"Try it and I will castrate you," she growled, hands curling into claws.

"I thought that would be your answer," he said with a smile, "Boys?"

A ragged scream filled the room and Elissa turned to find one of the strung up guardsmen writhing in his bonds, a dagger thrust through his abdomen. She turned back in horror and found Mortain smiling down at her with glee.

"For every protest or action of defiance they will bear your punishment. Now is your chance to act a Queen, Elissa, and save your people from certain death."

Elissa closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Time slowed to a crawl as she thought on every option open to her. Alistair would come for her…he would. She had to believe in such a thing, and Sabine's warning echoed through her mind. _Whatever he asks of you, you must do_. She just had to survive until she could escape, hopefully fleeing in time to warn her husband of what awaited. And though it tore at her heart to admit it, Mortain was right. She was the Queen, and her people came first.

"Very well," she whispered, head hung in shame and sorrow. Mortain chuckled darkly and Shianni cried out in protest.

"Elissa, no!" her friend screamed, pushing her way in front of the Queen, eyes blazing as she stared down the villain before them. "If you so much as touch her, I swear I'll-"

Mortain's hands struck out lighting fast, gripping her head, and twisted deftly, snapping Shianni's neck with a deafening and world-ending crack. Elissa screamed, the sound clawing it's way u from her heart and tearing from her throat in anguish. She fell to her knees as Shianni crumpled to the ground and stared up sightlessly at the ceiling, the familiar fire completely gone from her gaze. Tears coursed fast and furious from Elissa's eyes as she scrambled to her fallen friend, hands shaking her still warm body as the Queen urged her to wake up.

"Finally, blessed silence," Mortain said with a happy sigh before he knelt and tore at the laces to Elissa's stays, ripping the fabric with a sickening sound. She gasped in reply and scrambled away from him, sight blinded by tears. He was relentless and followed her, ripping at her clothes until her bodice lay in tatters and her skirts were hiked to her knees. Her mind groped for all the lessons Ambrose had taught her and she brought her palm up to his face, angling to smash his nasal bone into his brain. Mortain turned at the last second and she ended up smacking him forcibly in the temple, causing him to loosen his hold. Elissa took advantage and spun on the floor, using her arms to pull away from him. Distantly she heard the slap of flesh upon flesh and ragged moans surrounding her, a reminder that her fellow prisoners survival relied on her compliance. One glance at Shianni's corpse had her suddenly not caring and she refused to give herself to the man who had ended the life of one of the strongest women she had ever had the privilege of knowing.

Mortain growled above her and pinned her to the ground, harshly spreading her legs with his knees. He held her in place with a fierce hand upon her neck as he fumbled at the laces of her corset and she shrieked in defiance. Pushing her hips back in with a sudden thrust she bucked him off her and scrambled to her feet, eyes focused on the door across the room. If she could just reach it she could…

Her thoughts were cut off as she was slammed against a wall with enough force to have her seeing stars. Mortain's face, twisted with rage, swam before her as he slammed her once more against the hard stone.

"You stupid, Bitch," he growled, "can't you see you've already lost? I will have you, and then I shall give you to my men, until you are so used up that no one will ever want you again, and then I shall kill your tyrant of a husband and my people will rise up and slaughter every last power abusing shem. Not resting until we are truly free."

Elissa spat in his face and struggled against his hands, but it was useless. He was far stronger than her and all she managed to do was incite his rage further. The sounds of fighting and torture grew louder around her, shouts of alarm and confusion swimming to the surface. Something was out of place in the cacophony, but Elissa was too focused on the trauma at hand to tease it out. Mortain shoved a knee between her thighs, seeking to spread her legs but was suddenly and abruptly drawn up short. Elissa felt something warm and wet spray her chest and she froze in a panic. Time ground to a halt as Mortain looked at her with disbelieving eyes before trailing down to his chest, Elissa's gaze following it. Two inches of steel stuck out from his flesh, a faint trail of blood leaking a trail down his shirt. Mortain opened his mouth and stared hard at her, eyes wide with defeat.

"No," he gasped before the weapon was yanked from his body and he crumpled to the ground, revealing a grim and blood splattered Alistair standing behind him in bitter victory.

"Elissa," he breathed, dropping his sword to the ground. She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. The sound of a triumphant yell broke her reverie and she glanced around to find the room swarming with royal soldiers, each standing victoriously over a dead elven corpse. Others were unchaining the surviving elven guardsmen, gingerly lowering them to the ground. Elissa found it in her to feel a flickering of relief when she saw that Torin was among them. Were her gaze once again landed on Shianni, broken and forgotten on the cold floor, her knees buckled and she felt herself fall to the ground, only to be caught in strong arms that hoisted her skyward, cradling her against a solid a familiar chest. She clung to Alistair and sobbed, each cry a eulogy for the woman who had tried to save her from a violation she herself had known all too well.

"Shhhh…" Alistair murmured in her ear, "I'm here. I have you."

"How?" she asked through gasping pants, gazing up at him through tear blurred eyes.

"I can answer that, my fair Queen," an unfamiliar and accented voice replied from behind her husband. She glanced over Alistair's shoulder at found herself staring at a tan, and very handsome blonde elf with a scrolling black tattoo marking his cheek. "My name is Zevran, your Majesty, assassin, tracker, and lover extraordinaire. Our dead friend here may be quite the master mind, but his followers are dismal at hiding their tracks, no? I'm only sorry it took so long for our daring and manly rescue."

Elissa choked and buried her face against her husband's chest, still too grieved to give a reply.

"Give it a rest, Zevran," Alistair said softly, "this is not the time."

"You are right, my friend," he said apologetically, "but I thought you should know your men found something rather strange indeed. A corpse, matching the description of Mortain's friend Simon was found with his throat cut not ten paces from the entrance to this accursed place…Normally I would take all the credit for such a gloriously gory thing, yes? But as I was with you I alas cannot claim such a feat…and none of your men have any idea who did the dead as well. Strange, no?"

Alistair said nothing but gripped Elissa closer and turned to survey the carnage that scattered about the room. Zevran said nothing but followed his gaze, giving the King time to find his thoughts. After staring hard at Shianni's corpse for the space of a few heart beats Alistair finally brought himself to answer. "I don't think it matters much right now, Zev," he murmured softly, "the man is dead and it is small consolation."

Elissa stared numbly at her fallen friend and rested her head wearily against her husband's chest.

"Alistair," she pleaded softly, "take me home."

**A/N: Okay justification/explanations. First up, this chapter:**

**Before I get any rotten fruit thrown at me for Sabine's reaction let me explain…my very best friend in the world spent five years trapped in an abusive marriage. Because of this I have done a lot of research into what is known as the "victim cycle." One of the reasons assault victims stay with their abusers is because they convince themselves that these assholes really love them deep down and they will eventually stop hurting them. It makes no logical sense to those of us who have never experienced such horror, but it is none the less true. It is not the only reason why victims stay with their attackers, it wasn't even my friend's reason, but it is one of the many. So Elissa's reaction, in my mind, fits with her character, and I would like o make it PERFECTLY CLEAR that I am not victim shaming in anyway. I believe I am staying true to Sabine's character and where she is in the process.**

**Next up: The previous chapter:**

**Okay, so I had a review or two take issue with the whole dungeon thing (let me be clear, this is no way references you Katdancer2, beta goddess extraordinaire). This is my reasoning: Back in the day almost every castle had a dungeon (point in fact, you fight your way through Howe's dungeon in the game.) They were basically the equivalent of today's jails, where prisoners were housed for questioning before a trial (not in all cases, but in a lot). Once they were sentenced, they were then transferred to a different location, in the case Fort Drakon, to serve out their sentence (much like today's prisons). And as stated in the previous chapter, none of the elves had received a trial yet. Hence my logic.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Oh man…you have NO IDEA how hard it was to keep this a secret. I've had this planned since the beginning and was basically one of the main reasons why I even WROTE this story. So with that said, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to KatDancer2, mandymc, clafount, and Apollo wings. You guys will understand once you start reading…thanks for sticking with me through two novel length stories…**

**One more chapter to go!**

A mourning bell tolled grimly throughout Denerim, each peal betokening a sorrow that could not be named. The sound echoed through the rafters of the city's Chantry, ringing hollow in the chest of the lone mourner that stood vigil over the body entombed in state. Shafts of late afternoon sunlight chased merrily across the floor, dust motes and incense smoke twining an ethereal dance in their luminescence. It was a beautiful setting, one that would make even the most ardent non believer take pause, but the lone figure standing vigil paid her surroundings no mind, focused only on her contemplation.

Elissa stood over Shianni Tabris' flower bedecked pyre in silence, hardly moving, as she had done ever since the funeral service had let out an hour prior. Wanting to spend the last few moments in peace and contemplation before the extraordinary woman she had called "friend" was sent to the Maker in a burst of flame, Elissa had quietly but firmly ordered everyone, including the Reverend Mother to leave her alone in her mourning.

It had been three days since Mortain's evil plot had unfolded, and Elissa was no closer to finding answers as to why it had all happened. Oh logically she knew, but the answers she was seeking had little to do with motive and powers play, and more with fate and chance. The most persistent question being, why had _this_ extraordinary, strong, willful woman been the one to lay dead on the ground, and her, the Queen, remain breathing.

After Alistair had rescued her, she had collapsed in on herself and gone nearly catatonic. She would not reply to questions or inquiries, and stared at the healers and her husband with dull, unfeeling eyes. Alistair had been so alarmed by her state that he insisted she be sedated, reasoning that she needed rest. She was complacent with such an order until a healer, human, but bearing the same black hair and gray eyes as Mortain leaned down to obey. It was then that she erupted, screaming wildly and lashing out with madness. It had taken Alistair, Zevran, and another, unknown, man to restrain her so that the medics could be allowed to work. Fighting all the way she slipped into the fade and was plagued by nightmares of bloodied elves and loved ones lost.

When she awoke some time later, she found herself laid up in her and Alistair's bed, a familiar and worried face looming over her. When she realized it was Ambrose she burst into tears and wailed her grief to the rafters. Her friend held her gingerly, still recovering from his own share of trauma, and together the two mourned the loss of their dear friend Shianni. After they had wrung themselves hollow of tears, Elissa had composed herself enough to ask how the others were faring. To her great relief she was told that not only would Ambrose himself survive, but so would Torin and the remaining elven guard, all save two; their wounds had been dire, but easily tended two once under the supervision of the castle healers. Once all the questions had been asked, the pair quietly reminisced about the all too brief time in which they had known Shianni, and for the first time since she was captured, Elissa found herself laughing. After an hour had passed, two servants quietly knocked at her door and informed her that Ambrose needed to return to the sick room for further observation. Her friend gave her a wink before allowing the men to hoist him onto a nearby litter and carry him away. Elissa was left alone with her dark thoughts and eventually fell into a fitful slumber. If Alistair joined her in their great bed, he was gone before she woke, and she felt his absence like a knife to the heart. She was all too aware of the chasm that still lay between them, but none the less, she craved his touch as if it were a balm that would soothe her shattered soul.

Elissa would have loved nothing more than to lose herself in grief and despair, but the weight of her title hung heavy about her neck, and the next morning she set herself about the business of arranging funerals for the honored dead. And so it was that she came to stand before a flower strewn pyre, her friend daintily laid among the blossoms, tart and willful voiced forever silenced.

"She would have hated this, you know," an unknown voice intoned wryly and Elissa whipped her head around to see a lithe woman step out from behind the massive stone effigy of Andraste. "All this attention and frippery? I can almost hear the tirade now."

The woman was all grace and danger, clad in black leather breeches that fit like a second skin, and a sleeveless scarlet vest that flared seductively about her collar bones. Her ebony hair was shorn into a short and severe bob that framed the delicate bones of her face in a haunting way, and emerald eyes flashed predatory and sorrowful out of creamy, milk white skin.

"Forgive me for interrupting your mourning," the woman continued, glidingly silently up to the pyre, "I heard your decree from my perch in the rafters, but seeing as no one knows about my presence in this twice damned city I find that my options for saying goodbye to my cousin are rather limited."

Elissa started at the words and felt her heart stop dead in her chest as the woman casually swept a lock of black hair behind a delicately pointed ear. The pieces fell into place and Elissa knew with a certainty who this deadly, beautiful, elf standing before her was: none other than Harlow Tabris herself.

Oblivious to the Queen's discomfort and shock, Harlow deftly drew a dagger from her boot and quietly cut a lock of her silky hair, gently laying the strands beneath Shianni's cold and still palms.

"Ah, Cousin," she said, wistfulness and sorrow lacing every syllable of her words, "I'm sorry I was too late. I was too busy playing 'least in sight' to be of any use to you this time. My mistake. I should have said 'damn them all' and saved you, but I didn't realize how deadly that monster Mortain truly was. I hope one day you can forgive me…and while my hand wasn't the one to slay your villain, please take comfort in knowing I did cut down his ally, and left him to fester in the streets. Small consolation, but there it is. I'll miss you, Shianni, more than I can say."

Harlow closed her eyes and laid a hand upon her cousin's brow, a sad smile painting her lips. Elissa watched with a guarded expression, sympathy and anxiety warring within her. When at last the elf had finished her goodbye she sighed and regarded the queen with a slight grin and arms folded over her chest.

"So you're Elissa Cousland," she said wryly, eyebrow quirked in disbelief.

"And you're Harlow Tabris," Elissa responded softly, "Forgive me, but your husband's letter left the impression that you would not be journeying to Denerim. I am most confused by your sudden appearance."

Harlow let out a soft chuckle and shook my head, "Zev's not my husband…paramour is a more apt description. You've met the man, so you should know firsthand just how appalled he would be by the idea of marriage."

"He is…quite enthusiastic in his interactions," Elissa said politely, trying to frame the seductive assassin's personality in a way that wouldn't offend.

"Oh, Your Majesty, his interactions is just the surface of what he's enthusiastic about," the elf replied with a wink. "And Zevran has no idea I'm here, a bit of information I'd appreciate you keep to yourself if at all possible. I remember all too well how the court likes to gossip."

"Why would you hide yourself?" Elissa asked in bafflement.

"Because for all that my dear assassin acts the lothario, he is undeniably possessive. If he knew I was in the same city as Alistair he would have twenty different kinds of fits, each involving some very creative and unique Antivan curses. But I knew that things were very, _very_ wrong here, and I thought I would be able to help in some way," she said wearily, turning to once more gaze up her cousin, "apparently it wasn't help enough, though I did what I could."

Elissa puzzled over the words and let out a gasp in surprise, "It was you!" she cried thrusting a finger out to emphasize her point, "You were the one that slaughter Simon. Try as we might we couldn't fathom who was behind it; all the guardsmen were in the cellar, none posted outside. In the end it was decided Sabine had finally fought back against her oppressors, seeing as we have seen not a trace of her since that night. But I knew that such a thing was impossible…not after I had seen how far into the abuse she had sunk."

"She is safe, if you were wondering," Harlow offered, "and before you ask, no I will not tell you where. The last thing that woman needs is to be questioned and berated. Let her live out her life and heal far away from the memory of Mortain. And yes, I will happily claim credit for Simon's death, though only to you. It was a distinct and _sincere_ pleasure to feel his blood on my hands."

Elissa paled at the undisguised glee in Harlow's voice, remembering for the first time that in addition to being named the Hero of Ferelden, she was a very skilled, very deadly, assassin. The other woman took no notice of the queen's reaction and glided gracefully over to a nearby pew, flopping down with an insolent smirk.

"Are we going to engage in pleasantries all day, or are we going to address what's really on your mind, Elissa?" she asked pointedly, letting her gaze rake over the monarch's body in a measuring sort of way. "You're prettier than I remember."

"How very galling that must be for you," Elissa said with a bit of heat, "Should I apologize for my appearance? Alistair seems to be quite taken with it."

Harlow laughed and shook her head before saying, "I'm pleased to see you have some spirit in you. Our Alistair does have penchant for strong women."

"You would be the expert in such matters," Elissa said darkly, turning away.

"You seem to be under the impression that we are rivals," Harlow inquired gently and Elissa rounded on her in anger.

"Aren't we, my lady? 'Our' Alistair? Truer words were never spoken, for all that I am his wife you are still twisted up in his life, patiently waiting for the years to pass until you can once more be together and I will be left behind, to mourn a man who was never truly mine to begin with," she cried, her heart laid bare in her words. Harlow let her rant with placid eyes, never flinching from her words. Elissa tensed, breathing hard, waiting for the elf to strike back and her with her own share of vitriol, but was surprised when all that left Harlow was a weary sigh.

"I don't view us as that at all," she said softly, hanging her head between her legs. "At one time, yes…I thought of you as this simpering noble woman, so very pretty and rich come to steal away the man I loved. But that was before Zev and before many other things…the details of which I'll spare you as I'm pretty sure you do not relish hearing an in-depth account of our relationship."

"How very intuitive of you," Elissa grumbled, folding her arms across her chest.

"The thing to take away from this," Harlow said with a bit less patience, "is that you have nothing to fear…from me at least. I've seen the way the young ladies at court watch Alistair…it's frightening really how predatory they are. If I wasn't as stunningly awesome with a blade as I am reputed to be, I'd almost be afraid of them."

"And that is where I have you beat, my lady," Elissa said with a measure of humor, "you may excel at killing creatures made of nightmares, but _I_ am the expert at navigating the deadly waters of palace intrigue."

"As I said, our Alistair does admire strength and forbearance in the women he loves," Harlow replied with a smirk. It faltered a minute later and she rose to her feet with a sigh, coming to stand before the queen with resigned eyes. "And he _does_ love you, Elissa. Anyone in attendance at today's proceedings would have to be blind not to see it. Even an assassin perched in the rafters picked up on his feelings."

"You can't know that," Elissa whispered in protest and turned to walk away, but Harlow caught her about the shoulder, urging her to stay.

"I know Alistair," was her firm reply, "as much as it might pain you to admit it, I spent the better part of two years loving that man, I know every one of his tells. The way he looked at you…his heart in his eyes, gaze never once leaving your face. I never thought I would see such a look on his face again…lest it was aimed at me. I won't lie and say I am thrilled at the prospect, but I am happy enough in my current life that I can accept his feelings for you will good cheer. He _loves_ you, Your Majesty…so much that I'm not sure my presence in his life, real or imagined, would make much difference now."

"And the calling?" Elissa pressed, "What happens then? He knows how much this…connection to you pains me, but he refuses to renege on the promise he made you."

"And whether you're willing to admit it or not, you really don't want him to," Harlow said carefully, "if he did, he wouldn't be the man you love. The calling is something only he and I can share, Elissa. You will never understand what waits for us below ground…frankly, I wouldn't want you to, because it is a nightmare most are not fit to bear. Not even Zevran will fully understand, and he traversed those dark paths right by our side. We know what is in store for us…and perhaps it is a measure of mercy that we spare those who choose to love us the heart ache of watching us descend into madness cruelty."

"It's all so strange," Elissa said with a watery laugh, "I never expected to fall in love with the man. But he has this infuriating way of creeping below your emotional walls and making himself at home."

"Something I know all too well, my Queen," Harlow said with a laugh before sobering once more. "Elissa, truly…you want no part of your husband's death. Let your last memories of him be filled with the life you created together, not of him trying to walk the border of sanity and failing. That is my burden not yours."

"Stranger still, I did not expect to like _you_," Elissa said after a pregnant pause, the words strangely sorrowful.

"Likewise," came Harlow's amused reply. She seemed to struggle with something in her mind before muttering "sod it" and grasping the Queen's hands in hers. "You have nothing to fear from me, Elissa. I will not show up on your doorstep to claim what is no longer mine. Trust me when I say that it would end oh so badly for everyone involved, including myself. Alistair and I…we don't fit unless there is a battle raging around us…and as I told him when I left, I'm sick of fighting. Zevran and I? We are matched rather well and he adores me so…not that I can really blame him. I am more than content to live out my days with my dashing Antivan Elf in Amaranthine. There is nothing left for me in Denerim. Be satisfied with that."

Elissa nodded and cleared her throat, head swimming with revelations. She pulled her hands from Harlow's grasp and hesitantly grasped the hilt of one of Harlow's many daggers. The elf tensed at the movement, hands reaching for other weapons but stopped short when Elissa merely brought the blade to rest against her mahogany hair, sawing through a think chunk with a bare detectable sigh. Elissa said nothing as she strode to Shianni's pyre and gently placed the locks next to Harlow's, studying the contrast of texture with a faint smile. Leaning down to lay a lingering and farewell kiss upon her friend's brow, she whispered "goodbye" and rose, her bearing no longer mournful, but that of a stately Queen readying to great the world. Harlow watched her go, not making a sound, emerald eyes guarded against a myriad of emotions. Elissa paused at the door and tilted her head ever so slightly as to direct her words to the elven woman.

"It was an honor to meet you, Harlow. You, much like your cousin, are a remarkable woman. I do so hope we never meet again," she said quietly.

"Likewise, Your Majesty," Harlow said with the slightest dip of an exaggerated curtsey, a true and genuine smile upon her delicate features. Elissa laughed and pulled open the great chantry doors and strode out into the sunlight, letting it wash the grief and uncertainty from her soul. Eyes flicking to the horizon, she sighed and began the long, winding stroll back to the castle, her heart lifting with every step.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Fair warning, this is a long note….Whew! Over 70,000 words later here we are: the end. When I set out to write this, it was mostly because I thought Alistair deserved a happy ending, but also because I wanted him to have it with someone completely unlike our dear Harlow. Harlow was such a well liked character in ****If I've Killed**__**that I almost set myself up for failure, but I'm pleased with how Elissa turned out. I know she was not everyone's favorite, but I sorta think that was the point. Not every protagonist can be well loved…I wanted her to have flaws and not be this kick-ass chick who could take on the world and sweep Alistair off his feet…I already wore that woman, I wanted to write a different one, and I'm so happy that I did.**

**This has been the most rewarding fic to write and it's all because of YOU. It may not seem like a big deal, but because of the number of follows and reviews this story now appears on the FIRST PAGE of Cousland/Alistair fics and that is something that I NEVER thought would happen. Like, ever. I cannot even begin to describe how incredibly grateful I am to each and every one of my readers for taking time out their lives to read my musings and become invested in these characters and these stories. **

**Some specific thanks:**

**To Apollo Wings, the crazy writing machine. You are amazing. Are you aware of this? Every word you write is fabulous and I only wish I was able to churn out stories like you. Thank you so much for your constant reviews and kind words (and of course your amazing gift to me!)**

**Mandymc: Thank you for being one of my first readers and for sticking with me through these two novels! Your love of Zevran always made me smile and I never get tired of your gracious words.**

**Clafount: You are awesome…I insist you keep writing, and I demand a new chapter for "Fancy Meeting You Here" because I **_**need**_** to know what happens. I am shocked by your dedication to my writing and love that you take the time to review every chapter. People like you are why I keep doing this, and hey…gotta give love to a fellow Buffy fan!**

**Pollyanna24: I know this story wasn't always what you wanted it to be, but I nonetheless am grateful for your readership. You so could have walked away so many times but you stuck with me and that is a gift that I truly appreciate. You're reviews were always throughout and never nasty and a joy to read.**

**To Michelle-Anne85, The Warrior of the Light, and Melysande: your loyalty totally kills me and every time my inbox "dinged" with a review from you it brought a smile to my face. Each and every one of you is awesome sauce and I wish I could send you many cookies. **

**And last but not least, to KatDancer2, beta goddess extraordinaire: Dude…I don't even have the words. You totally took up this role without my even asking and what a huge freaking role it is. I really kinda suck at editing and I cannot tell you how very grateful I am for your "nit picks" and your dedication. Seriously, stop being so awesome.**

**Sigh…I've spent the better part of a year with Harlow, Alistair, Zevran, and Elissa, and I am really sad to have to let them go…but I feel I've told their story and it's time to bow out. But fear not! I still plan on finishing my Buffy/DA crossover entitled "Chosen and Joined" and have plans for two more fics in the work: one is a pre-origins Cullen/Amell story entitled Glycerine, and the other is an as yet untitled Cousland/Howe one-shot (a promised gift for KatDancer2.) If you would like to read these, go ahead and follow me! So keep an eye out, lovelies, you haven't seen the last of me yet! **

Alistair could hear the distant peals of mourning bells echo in the air around him and let out a weary sigh. It had been an hour since Shianni's funeral had ended and Elissa still had yet to return to the castle. He had been ashamed to admit that, during the somber service, his attention had been focused entirely on his mournful wife and not on the proceedings. She had looked so small and broken sitting at the end of a pew, as close as she could be to Shianni without actually standing by the pyre. He had been at the other end of the chantry, hiding shamefully from her gaze. When she had asked for privacy at the services end, he had acquiesced with nary a protest, and slunk off to the castle, head hung low. When the minutes ticked by and she had not returned, he had restlessly paced the expanse of the palace, eventually ending up once more in the castle gardens, dried leaves crunching under foot as he wandered a path that had no destination.

It had been three days since Alistair had managed to rescue her from the vile and despicable ministrations of Mortain, and he had yet to bring himself to face her. It wasn't exactly that he wished to be away from her presence, Maker knew he longed for her in the fiercest way, it was more that he was afraid of what words would cross her lips when he finally mustered the courage to approach her. He was unsure of how to handle her in this delicate state, when she seemed so close to breaking. Those first few hours after the skirmish she had withdrawn so far inward that nothing seemed to reach her. He had practically screamed her name in an effort to elicit a reaction but she remained as blank faced and placid as ever. It was only when a healer was ordered to sedate her did she lash out with a fury he did not know she possessed. It was a memory that made his stomach churn to this day; him having to restrain his wife, pressing her to the bed as she screamed and raved, lips pouring out details of an almost rape that made his blood boil over into a white hot rage. Even now, replaying her words in his brain, he felt the need to lash out and cause massive amounts of harm to _someone_ in retribution for what had happened to his wife. And that more than anything is what had him keeping his distance from her. Elissa needed soothing words and healing, not temper and anger directed at an enemy that had already been slain; and Alistair had no room in him to feel anything beyond rage when he thought back on what she suffered. His fragile hold on his emotions coupled with the fact that the two had yet to speak of his calling and the promise made months before was enough to have him running from his wife like a coward.

But it had become too much and so, in the quiet hours of the night, when the moon hung heavy and bright in the sky, he would slip silently into their room, and join her in their massive bed. Her grief had exhausted her and she never once stirred as he stretched out beside her, a hand tentatively reaching out to brush through her silky hair. For a few stolen hours he would lie beside his wife and watch her sleep, his mind desperately trying to untangle the turmoil of the past week. Try as he might he could not muster any answers or courage, and would steal from their chamber in the cold, grey light of dawn, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

His days had been filled with the headache of politics, trying desperately to tidy up the mess that Mortain left behind. Of the fifty plus elves that had rose up against the crown, over two thirds lay dead. The others were chain up in Fort Drakon, awaiting their execution. Alistair hadn't bothered with individual trials. After hearing Elissa's madness laced rant as she thrashed beneath his hands, he had them all brought before the landsmeet and tried for treason. Ambrose and the remaining elven guard testified to their involvement in the prison break, and not a single person spoke in their defense. The judgment came down quickly; a swift and decisive guilty. The prisoner's expressions had run the gamut from outrage to disbelief, everyone of them shocked that Mortain's plan had brought them their death, and not the freedom that had been promised. Alistair watched them be taken away, eyes hard and pitiless. A part of him knew that there would be political fallout, that the remaining elves in Denerim would sneer at the ruling, but he could not bring himself to care overly much. Shianni Tabris was dead, and his wife a ghost to him…if nothing else they deserved justice.

The shadow of a headache threatened at his temples and he sighed wearily, deciding it better to wait for his errant wife indoors. Head down, he turned and quickly trudged towards the garden's exit, nearly colliding with someone entering through the ivy wrapped archway. Eyes wide he shot out a hand to balance the person, hand coming hard upon a velvet wrapped bicep.

"I'm sorry, I-" he muttered, eyes flicking upwards. His breath caught in his throat as his gaze locked with the most beautiful pair of luminous dark eyes he had ever seen. "Elissa?"

~oOo~

Elissa stared up at her husband and felt her heart swell in her chest. He was so achingly handsome in that moment that she took a few precious seconds to dwell upon his features; gaze raking over the strong line of his jaw, his mussed golden hair, and the way his eyes flashed out at her with a mixture of longing, shame, and guarded anticipation. Taking a deep breath she straightened her spine and slowly raised her hands, placing them lightly on his shoulders. Alistair raised his eyebrows in surprise, but before he could comment on the action she pushed forward, causing him to stumble back.

"That's for disappearing for the last three days," she said tartly, eyes flashing as she followed after him, hands rising to push once more, "and that's for keeping secrets that almost had the power to destroy us." Push. "That's for making it so Maker damned difficult to love you." Alistair flinched as she gripped his doublet fiercely, reading for another blow, but stilled instantly as she rose up on tip toe to press a lingering kiss upon his lips. "And that's for saving me," she whispered against his mouth once she had pulled away. Alistair said nothing as she settled back on her heels, and she watched him calmly, feeling secure and at peace for the first time in months. He opened his mouth a few times, floundering for speech, and Elissa chuckled at his discomfort.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, my king?" she asked, arms folded over her chest.

"I feel as if an apology is the correct answer in this situation," he hedged warily, hand rubbing at his neck. Elissa smiled and grasped his hand in hers, leading him to a nearby bench and settling down beside him.

"Why, Alistair?" she asked softly, "why did you never come to me?"

"I wasn't sure you would want me," he replied, refusing to meet her eyes, "When we restrained you…the things you said…I wasn't sure you would want any man to offer you comfort. Let alone a bumbling idiot of a King who was so blinded with rage at the indignity you suffered that he punched a wall until his knuckles were bloody."

"Idiot," she whispered, "how could you think that in that moment I would want anyone else but my husband by my side?"

"Are you serious?" he asked, eyes flashing with a bit of heat, "Elissa, before your abduction you spent a week avoiding me, refusing to even share the same room with me beyond the duties of our titles. Just because a mad man stole you from me does not erase the fact that there was, and still is, so much undecided between us."

"You're right," she murmured, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "you had no reason to be sure of your welcome. I am sorry for that…but you must admit, there has been little time to discuss our discord as of late."

"I did come to you," he admitted quietly after a moment's pause, "every night I would steal into our room, just to be near you. But I was too damned afraid of what words would cross your lips if you saw me, so like a coward I left before you woke."

"Then let me speak the words," she replied, turning his head to face hers with a gentle hand, "if only to spare you the waiting."

She watched as his eyes flickered closed, face crumbling in preparation for defeat. When at last he gazed upon her once more, she could see that he had readied himself for the blow of something painful, features a placid mask of indifference, though his eyes watered.

"You are forgiven, Alistair," she said firmly, "I will not stop you from going to her, nor will I use her as a weapon against your heart for the years to come. I can accept this grim fact of life if you make me but one promise in return: No more secrets between us. It does us no good and I'd rather not spend our remaining years wondering what bit of information is lurking around the corner to fell us once more."

"Are you sure?" he asked, hope sparking in voice, "Not that I'm unwilling but…Elissa, you realize what you're agreeing to? I don't want you to lie to yourself in an effort to be gracious only to have you cry foul later down road."

"Promise me, Alistair," she reiterated, words pointed and precise.

"I promise," he whispered. Elissa smiled softly before closing her eyes and resting her brow against his.

"Then let us live as husband and wife; elves, lovers past, and revolutions be damned," she murmured before leaning in for a kiss. Alistair pulled back before she could complete the gesture at stared at her in wonder.

"What brought on this sudden shift in feeling? Don't get me wrong…I find myself grateful for this new side of you…though by now I should really know better. You only act this agreeable when you have something up your sleeve."

"I have nothing planned," she sighed impatiently, "and does it matter how I came to this resolution? I would think you would be happy to have me speak such words."

"It does, actually," he said pragmatically, "out with it, Elissa. Something happened between the funeral and this moment, I want to know what."

"You are so infuriating!"

"You yourself said no more secrets," Alistair replied smugly, arms folded across his chest. "Or did that bit of information apply only to me?"

Elissa frowned and rose to pace, hands twisting as she debated her course of action. In the end, Alistair's patient and stubborn gaze decided for her and she sighed wearily before stealing herself against his reaction.

"It was many things," she hedged, trying to prolong the reveal, "a surprisingly romantic speech from Ambrose, and one finds that being held captive under the promise of debasement and certain death will do wonders for one's view of the world…and…well…" Here it was, the moment of truth. Elissa would know once and for all if what said within the sanctity of the Chantry's walls held true based upon Alistair's reaction. "Harlow," she breathed and Alistair started at her name, "I met Harlow."

"How?" Alistair asked in bafflement, a chuckle of disbelief rising from his throat, "Last I heard, she was in Amaranthine."

"And in deference to her, that is the rumor we shall continue to circulate, especially to the ears of her lusty paramour," Elissa said tartly. "She came to accomplish whatever it is heroes of her ilk do, Alistair. She rode into to slay the villains but arrived too late. And so together, in the quiet air of the Chantry, we both said goodbye to her cousin and discussed the man who had the ill fortune to tie himself to us."

Alistair said nothing for a long time, and Elissa fidgeted under the weight of his silence. Distantly the sounds of day to day living echoed around them, and for a brief minute she was thrown by such a notion. How could the world have kept turning these past few days when so many life altering events had transpired? It made her feel small in a vast sort of way, to know that while the balance of friendship, love, and peace had hung in the balance, the rest of the population had continued on as they always had, unaware of such turmoil. When Alistair at last rose from the bench and gently grasped her hands in his, she was torn from her reverie and her breath caught in her throat.

"Let me get this straight," he murmured hesitantly, "The fate of our marriage hinged on a speech from a man who I accused you of dallying with, the deadly plot of a mad man, and advice from my ex lover?" Elissa nodded and Alistair cocked his head to the side in amusement. "Our lives are different than other people's, aren't they?"

Elissa's laughter rang free from her in an unexpected burst, and she felt her heart swell with an emotion too great to name. She had been braced for so many hurtful things, for him to run from the garden and seek out Harlow, to ask so many questions of the woman that it would break her down with every answer to give…but this? This dismissal of the elven woman's presence, the light banter, it filled her with such joy that she thought she may very well burst.

"All too true, my King," she whispered before fiercely taking his face in her hands and kissing the very breath from him. It was a kiss that poets write of, the kind that creates a memory you want to put in a box and bring out on gray days to lighten your spirits. Alistair held her close, a hands tangling in her hair as he returned her passion with equal fervor and delight. When at last they parted, chests rising in labored pants Elissa felt the first pricks of joyful tears upon her cheeks.

"I love you, Alistair," she whispered, and he grinned so wide it was a wonder it did not split his face in two.

"And I you," he murmured, hands still raking through her silky locks, "forever, Elissa…for as long as you'll have me, I love you."

"Then shall we retire to the castle, my husband," she asked grinning as she made to lead him away, "and get on with the business of leading our strange lives?"

"Wait," he protested, pulling her back to him, eyes suddenly serious, "You said there was to be no more secrets. I have but one more."

"Still?" she asked in disbelief.

"The very last, I promise," he insisted, "the Wardens…the taint. In addition to all the _lovely_ side effects I've already mentioned, it renders us next to infertile. It is not unheard of for a Warden to produce a child, but it is rare." Elissa amazed him in that moment by smiling wickedly and pressing herself close.

"Then we shall just have to apply ourselves to the discipline most fiercely," she whispered in his ear before nipping the lobe gently. Alistair shuddered at the sensation and growled low in his throat.

"You little minx," he murmured, hands running over her back in a sensual line.

"Catch me if you can, your majesty," she whispered before spinning from him and leading him on a merry chase through the gardens. It was glorious in how silly it was, and for the first time in all her years, Elissa Cousland stopped worrying about the future, about what was to come and what the consequences would be. It was a future that was woven of many threads, encompassing so many events that the mind spun to think of it. It included politics, uprisings, headaches, illness, and bloody conflicts, framed by moments of happiness and love. There would be another revolution, this time with the mages, the ripples of which would felt all across Thedas, and there would be twins born to the royal couple, a pair of boys, though it would take five years to birth them. It was a future of joy and sorrow, rage and desire, and through it all it would be shared by her doting husband; for in the end that is how we refute entropy. And there would come day, when Alistair would hear a drum sounding through his veins and be reminded of a promise he made long ago. But it was all so distant, and Elissa was unconcerned with the" what may comes" of her life, because for now it was enough that she was in this moment, with the man she loved, running through the royal garden with laughter lighting the air like a promise of spring to come.


End file.
